


Don't Judge a Book

by SBG



Category: Simon and Simon (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Crossover, Gen, Kid Fic, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 11:03:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 33,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6852100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SBG/pseuds/SBG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the spring of 1985. Rick and AJ Simon are on what they think is a routine case when something ... not routine happens. Their whole perspective has to shift to accommodate the Winchester family and all that entails.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Rick Simon:** Eldest Simon brother, Vietnam vet, total badass private investigator with a moustache, a big gun (.44 Magnum, y'all!), a cowboy hat and a free-spirit attitude. He has AJ's back, always.  
>  **AJ Simon:** Younger of the two Simons, college educated and preppy, he never has a hair out of place, is very proper and is pretty darned conservative. He has Rick's back, always.  
>  **Cecilia Simon:** Arguably one of the best mothers on television, ever. She puts up with her sons' shenanigans with the patience of a saint and with great wit. She loves her boys, and has had to be mother and father because she lost her husband when the boys were young*. (*Canon has contradicted itself on the actual timeline - for my purposes, AJ was about four when his father died.)  
>  **John Winchester:** Tortured soul who only lost his wife to something evil about a year and a half ago. He hunts evil across the country, determined to find what killed his wife, and to protect his sons the only way he knows how - by keeping them close and raising them to be warriors.  
>  **Dean Winchester:** Six years old and tough as nails. He can and will do everything to protect his baby brother.  
>  **Sam Winchester:** Not yet two and with a limited vocabulary, he is too adorable for words anyway.  
>  **Town:** Will likely not appear in the story, but he is mentioned. So as not to confuse, Town is the nickname of Det. Marcel "Downtown" Brown, a police friend of the Simon brothers.

Rick Simon didn’t like how quiet things were. He knew the silence should be a good sign or at least not a bad one, but it set him on edge. He was almost positive he and AJ had their mark, though for something so simple this guy had proven hard to pin down. God knew they didn’t need this to go sideways on them any more than they did their other cases. 

The bottom line was the quiet felt kind of like the calm before the storm to him. He wasn’t even sure why he was unnerved, but something about this case had seemed off to him from the very start. Not that he minded a change from routine cheating-spouse cases – they’d been in that whatever-pays-the-bills rut for far too long now – but this was … Rick couldn’t put his finger on it. He supposed if he could, they wouldn’t be here. They still didn’t even have a name they could believe was real, no paper trail on this guy. Not only was that hugely problematic, it was peculiar their nameless perv was holed up in a skeevy motel way across town and wasn’t some neighborhood punk out for a thrill or a budding sexual predator. He tried to muffle the unease, inching silently to the motel room door. Nothing about this was adding up.

He peered through the curtained window, looking for the all clear. Through the opaque drapes, he couldn’t see much. But he saw no obvious signs of life from within, either. It was as it should be – their perp was probably out on the prowl even as he and AJ stood there. He should have volunteered to run surveillance on the home instead, maybe catch the guy red-handed at last, not that doing that would ease his mind at all, since it seemed intent on thinking the bogeyman was right around the corner.

Rick nodded to AJ, whose head bobbed in return as he set about picking the lock. He kept trying to convince himself this was a cakewalk. It was much easier to break into a motel than an office building. No ridiculous costumes or the theatrics AJ seemed to enjoy so much. All right, he did too, even if he was so often the lunatic in the set-up. He grinned to himself. Maybe lunatic wasn’t so far off – he must be crazy for looking for problems where there weren’t any. Their current case wasn’t as boring as a cheating-spouse case, but a Peeping Tom wasn’t exactly dangerous or exciting either.

The lock tumbled with a click, and AJ eased the door open wide enough only for them to slip into the room. They had no idea how much time they had, but what they were looking for shouldn’t take long. If the evidence they needed was here, it was here. If it wasn’t, well, they’d have to figure out another way to nail this bastard. Too bad the Sanchezes didn’t want to call the police in on this yet. It wasn’t like he was going to turn away a paying gig, even if it didn’t make sense. Rick moved quietly despite the emptiness of the room, unable in spite of himself to dislodge that bad feeling. AJ tapped him on the arm and pointed to the small kitchen area, moving just as stealthily as him. 

Rick scoped out the living space, which consisted of two lumpy beds and a bedside table. It didn’t take more than fifteen seconds for him to note there was nothing damning in the room, only a military-style duffel bag with a couple dirty socks hanging out from it. He riffled through it anyway, finding a couple of pairs of jeans and some flannel shirts. Nothing incriminating about that. No fake IDs or credit cards – the guy must keep the physical proof of those with him at all times, the crafty son of a bitch. Rick moved to join his brother, but before he could confirm if AJ had found anything he heard a faint, rustling noise. Like plastic. Shower curtain, maybe. His senses went on full alert again, an uncomfortable prickle of adrenaline on the back of his neck. 

“AJ,” he whispered. “You hear that?”

“Bathroom?” AJ whispered back, reaching for his weapon. His fingers curled and uncurled around the handle as he headed for the partially closed door, nervous but ready. 

Holding up three fingers, Rick waited a second before he started ticking them down. On three, he kicked the door open and entered the dark room, whipping the shower curtain back. There was nothing and no one there.

“Looks like this is a dead end,” AJ said glumly. “I’m beginning to not like this case very much, Rick. It feels all wrong.”

Rick blinked. Maybe he wasn’t crazy after all, if he and AJ were on the same page. He was about to say as much when he heard the crinkle of plastic again, followed closely by a soft hissing noise. From the corner of his eye, he saw AJ stiffen. The sound had come from the living area. It occurred to him, belatedly, that there was one place he’d failed to look in his initial search – under the beds. He should have known. Bad things always lurked under beds, be it criminals or criminals’ contraband. When he was little it was that bogeyman he half expected to see tonight. 

AJ walked toward the bed closest to the door, while Rick edged cautiously for the other one. Before his brother could reach his bed, more definitive sounds came from under Rick’s – a slight shuffle, a crinkle and a soft thump. He pointed AJ to the foot of the bed. Kneeling down and lifting the tattered bedspread was only liable to get them a face full of ugly. There was someone or something alive down there. He mimicked picking up the bed to his brother, waiting for AJ to get his gun at the ready and then hefting the mattress, box spring and cheap frame up with a shout he hoped would confuse what or whoever they were about to find. 

An explosion rocked the room the moment the bed was airborne. He recognized the sound of a shotgun retort, and heard the crash of the lamp as the bed knocked it over. Instinct kicked in – Rick darted for his brother, but it was too late. AJ fell backwards with an alarmed cry, his limbs tangling with Rick’s as they hit the floor simultaneously. Foregoing his concern for AJ and the tingling sensation his left arm had from striking his funny bone hard on the floor for a moment, Rick rolled onto his back and aimed, ready to fire at their assailant. 

Faced with their assailant, Rick checked himself barely in time, jerking his weapon up. His brain was momentarily frozen. He stared at the barrel of a gun pointed at him, too flabbergasted to do anything else for a second. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw AJ appeared unhurt and was in much the same position; his mouth hung open in shock and he looked hopelessly stupid.

“You don’t move,” a gruff but little voice said. “I mean it. You stay away.”

The owner of the voice was a boy who couldn’t have been more than five or six years old, all freckles and close-set eyes and gaps in his mouth from missing baby teeth, but the scowl he possessed might fell the mightiest of men. The boy scrambled to his feet awkwardly, stepping in front of something. He never lost his fumbling grip on the sawed-off shotgun he held, though the barrel wavered dangerously close to the Simon family jewels. Both sets. 

“Son,” Rick said, “you should think about putting that thing down before someone gets hurt.”

“No, I shouldn’t.”

As a show of good faith, Rick gingerly set his piece on the floor and raised both of his hands in front of him. He sat up slowly, which only prompted the kid to aim the gun at him alone. That was good. It was better to have all of the attention on him, or maybe it just seemed safer not to have that gun swinging around the room in the hands of a pint-sized boy. And if they were lucky, a few minutes of distraction would enable AJ to disarm him without another shot going off. He could see the boy’s arms shaking with the effort of keeping the weapon aimed.

“We’re not here to hurt you,” Rick said as gently as he could. Kids weren’t his forte in the first place, but this scenario was so bizarre he didn’t think it mattered much what he was saying or that he wasn’t good at it. “We promise.”

The boy’s jaw clenched and his nostrils flared. He wasn’t buying what Rick was selling. He was resolute and stiff as a statue until the something he stood in front of … wiggled. A faint, familiar crinkle of plastic filled the room. The boy looked back without hesitation, creating the perfect window of opportunity. 

Both Rick and AJ grabbed the barrel of the gun at the same time, wresting it away from the boy easily. For his trouble, Rick got a sharp jab in the eye. Damn, this kid was going to be a brawler someday. He already _was_ a brawler. Rick fell back, releasing his hold on the shotgun and slapping a hand over his injured eye. The punch might even leave a bruise. Rick was done with this bullshit. He pulled himself together and grabbed the boy’s arms, though not without a few more pokes and punches inflicted. The boy never stopped squirming and fighting. Rick’s attention was fully occupied, and he was not a little embarrassed at how difficult a job it was turning out to be to keep a child subdued.

“Don’t you touch him!” the boy screamed, going even wilder all of a sudden. “Don’t you touch my brother!”

Rick took an elbow to the gut before he got the kid fully restrained again. He looked up to see what had caused the outburst. He saw his brother crouching by the _something_ the kid had been shielding. It was a toddler, no more than a couple years old. His diaper crinkled as he wiggled around, seeming not nearly as alarmed by their presence as his older brother. He had unruly brown hair, a too-big T-shirt for pajamas, dimpled elbows and a dimpled face as he smiled sweetly at AJ. This was just getting too strange. 

“Nose,” the little one enunciated with some pride, and grabbed AJ by the left nostril.

&-&-&

These were the people monsters Daddy warned him about. 

People weren’t supposed to be as scary as real monsters, but Dean Winchester had a hard time believing that at the moment. He wasn’t gonna give up, though, not while Sammy was right there needing to be protected. He opened his mouth, ready to shout for help the way Dad said he should if he really, really had to, but then the yellow-haired guy kneeling down right next to Sammy and reaching a hand toward him.

“Don’t you touch him! Don’t you touch my brother!” he shouted instead, suddenly sure he could break out of the strong hold grownup hands had on him. 

He was proud when he heard an _oof_ from behind him as his elbow contacted the man’s stomach, but upset when that was as far as he could get. He watched Sammy smile at the strange man wearing all black, the way he smiled at everyone these days.

“Nose,” Sammy said, and pulled at the guy’s nose.

“Ow, hey,” the kneeling guy said as he pried Sam’s fingers off his face. He held onto the small hand. “Hey there, little fella.”

Dean shook with anger and the need to get his brother away from these bad men. He’d failed. He’d missed an easy shot, not realizing how heavy the gun would be when it counted, and now he couldn’t break free. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest.

“We’re really not going to hurt you, you know,” the man holding him said, the rumble of words vibrating into Dean’s back. 

“People always say that,” Dean said. He raised a leg up and brought his foot back, hoping to hurt the man enough for him to get free. It didn’t work.

“You just do not give up, do you?” The man tightened his hold.

Sammy lost interest in yellow-hair at last, looking over at Dean. He got that look on his face he always did when he was trying to figure something out. He was only a baby still, but Dean knew he wasn’t stupid. He could tell when Dean was mad or glad or sad. Or scared. Sammy’s lower lip began to tremble. He’d figured out this wasn’t part of some game they were playing. Really, Dean thought it was lucky the gun hadn’t scared Sammy to tears before.

Yellow-hair gave the man holding onto Dean a scared look of his own when Sam began to wail. He picked Sammy up like he was a sack of potatoes, not a boy. It was obvious he didn’t know what he was doing.

“You leave him alone,” Dean said.

Sam cried even harder, so much his face turned red. 

Dean wanted his dad to come through the door _right now_. He watched yellow-hair try to calm Sammy down, jostling him around a bit and saying words Dean couldn’t hear. He was too focused on his brother sobbing his eyes out. Sammy reached his arms toward Dean, which made him again struggle against the strong grip that held him in place.

“Let me go.”

“I would, kid, but I’m not sure you won’t try to beat me to death,” the guy said. 

Dean could hear the smile in the man’s voice, and it only made him mad. This wasn’t funny. Dean did what he had to do. He butted his head back against the guy’s face, so hard he saw a few stars himself. But the hands holding him loosened enough for him to slide free. There was no way he’d make it with Sam out the door and he knew it. He didn’t really care. He marched up to yellow-hair.

“Give me my brother, mister,” Dean demanded.

Sammy was really getting too big for him to carry around, but Dean didn’t care about that either as his brother slid from the stranger’s arms into his own. He was surprised how easily the man had handed over his brother. He didn’t think any more about it. All that mattered was that he had Sammy again. His brother wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck, and his legs around Dean’s back. Dean felt better. They were still in trouble, but at least they were together. If Dad didn’t get back soon, he knew he was going to have to figure out how to get away all by himself. He thought again about shouting for help, but he didn’t want to make Sammy cry some more.

“It’s okay now, Sammy.” 

Dean glared at the two men, now standing and staring down at him. The one that had grabbed him was wearing all black too, and had a moustache, but Dean could see blood on the bottom lip. He was proud of himself for that one. Dad would be too. Yellow-hair picked up the shotgun and the handguns they’d pointed at him and Sammy, a worried expression on his face. The grownups stood next to each other, between him and Sammy and the door. They kept staring.

“What do we do, Rick? We can’t just leave them here,” yellow-hair said softly. “Can we?”

“I don’t know, AJ. I was expecting pictures, maybe a few stolen pairs of underwear. Not kids.”

Rick and AJ. Dean filed the names away, in case he needed them. He shouldn’t. Something inside was telling him to run for the door, even if he knew he wouldn’t make it. He wasn’t going down without a fight. _Daddy, where are you?_

“Look at this place. They’re just _children_ , for God’s sake.” Yellow-hair … AJ looked around the room, frowning. “I don’t think I want to know what kind of person leaves children unattended in a flea-ridden motel room while he goes and plays voyeur.” 

“It’s not like he’s an upstanding citizen,” Rick said, rubbing the blood off his lip with the back of his hand. “The guy is a pervert. Besides, we don’t know these are his kids. He’s a ghost in the system as far as we can tell.”

“That’s true. Oh, God.” AJ’s mouth opened and closed again, and his eyebrows went all funny for a second. “What if they’re _not_ his kids?”

“Then this just got a lot more interesting.”

“I knew there was something off about this case.”

“So did I.”

“What? You did? Why didn’t you say anything? This could be way bigger than we’re prepared to handle. Kidnapping. Maybe child pornography.”

“Oh, don’t even say that,” Rick said. “If that’s what’s going on, I will personally kick this guy’s ass.” 

Grownups didn’t believe kids could hear when they were being talked about and around. Dean heard everything, and he didn’t like what they were saying one bit. He wanted to tell them they were both _jackasses_ and that they didn’t know _anything_ about his dad or him or Sammy. He didn’t know what po … por … he didn’t know all the words they were using, but he recognized how they were saying them. Dad was a hero, and these men talked about him like he was a bad thing. A monster. They were the monsters. They were here to take him and Sam away. He could not let that happen.

Dean moved closer to the door instead, knowing the men had probably forgotten he and Sam were there. They didn’t seem to know anything about kids in the first place. He didn’t think these people monsters were so scary after all. Except they were. Sammy was still like an octopus around him, forehead on his shoulder. Hiding. It was better that way. He didn’t want Sam to know when bad things happened. He wouldn’t remember this. Dean had to be strong for him, and pretend that his heart wasn’t beating just as fast as it was earlier. He took one more step toward the door. 

He almost loosened his hold on Sammy when a hand slapped against the door, loud, right above his head. 

“Anh-anh, junior,” Rick said, staring down at him with a mean look on his face. “You’re not going anywhere.”

The moustache made him seem tough. Maybe not as tough as Dad, but tough. 

“Rick, you’re scaring them,” AJ said and crouched down, with a smile on his face. His teeth were perfect and white. 

Dean wanted to punch him. He couldn’t do that and keep hanging onto Sammy. Taking care of Sammy won like it always did, but if the chance came up again he was going to knock that guy’s teeth loose.

“I’m not scared of you,” Dean said, jutting his jaw out. There was no escape. Dad wasn’t going to get here in time to help them. He wanted to cry but knew he couldn’t. “I’m no scaredy-cat.”

“I can tell you’re not.” AJ smiled wider. “The way you beat up my brother, I can tell you’re really brave. Nobody can beat up Rick. I’ve been trying since I was still in diapers, like your brother there.”

Brothers. Dean glared, not liking that he almost felt better about the two men because they were kind of like him and Sam. No, he told himself. They were _nothing_ like him and Sam. 

“Hey, that’s overstating things,” Rick said. “He got in a few lucky jabs here and there, maybe.”

“Ha. You’ve got a split lip. I’d say that’s more than luck.”

“He’s probably in some mini boxing league or something.”

Dad had told him about this game people played too. Dean knew they were trying to be nice and funny so he would relax. Their voices were louder than they had to be and sounded fake. It was a trick and he wasn’t going to fall for it. Not ever. They weren’t nice and they weren’t funny. Sammy stirred against him, finally lifting up his head. His nose was snotty. Gross.

“Dean,” he murmured, tugging at one of his ears. “Okay?”

Sammy liked the softness of his own earlobes. He played with one or both of them when he was scared or worried or tired, the way Dean used to have his special blanket before Mom … before it only ever smelled like smoke. Dean could usually figure out what his brother was feeling when he got to tugging on his ear. Tonight he was too mixed-up himself. His insides felt like they might come apart. The best he could do was tighten his hold on Sam and make sure the bad men didn’t take him.

“Yeah. It’s okay, Sammy, I gotcha,” Dean said, lying. “You can go back to sleep.”

“Okay. ‘M tired.”

Sammy put his head down, face pressed against Dean’s neck. Dean could tell he fell asleep almost right away, getting heavier still to hold onto. He leaned against the wall next to the door, but didn’t take his eyes off Rick and AJ. Dad always said not to relax around monsters of any kind. 

“How old’s your brother?” Rick asked, now talking quiet again but he was still standing with one hand pressed against the door.

“None of your business.”

Rick and AJ looked at each other, not saying anything for a long time. AJ stood, giving up trying to talk to Dean. Good. Dean clenched his jaw tight the way he saw Dad do all the time, narrowing his eyes.

“Rick, whether the kids are his or not, this is at the very least flat-out neglect,” AJ whispered, as if Dean wasn’t right there. “We should call the police. Get them some real help.”

At the “P” word, Dean took action. He didn’t think about it. He slammed his right heel into Rick’s instep. It hurt him too, since he was barefoot, but he heard the man yelp and saw him jump back. Dean opened the door and ran with Sammy out into the dark night.

&-&-&

As Rick muttered a string of curses and hopped away from the door, AJ hesitated. If these were regular, dangerous criminals he’d have darted right out after them, but they weren’t. They were kids. Kids. He couldn’t get over it, but he was going to have to get his brain in gear, and soon. The thought of those little boys wandering around in this neighborhood, in the middle of the night no less, gave him the heebie-jeebies. Even if the oldest seemed pretty capable, the street wasn’t safe. In the suburbs or any other district, there’d be police sirens filling the night as they approached. No one around here had cared enough to call in the sound of a shotgun blast. 

By the time he made it to the parking lot, there was no sign of Dean or his baby brother. It was like they’d vanished off the face of the earth. That wasn’t possible, and AJ was determined to find those kids before something bad – worse – happened to them. There had to be a way to convince them he and Rick weren’t the bad guys here. They might be suffering from a pretty severe case of Stockholm Syndrome, or at least Dean could be. The baby might be okay enough to lead a normal life, but the boy seemed like he might already be loyal to this pervert. As if he didn’t feel out of his element enough already, adding serious psychological issues was the proverbial icing on the cake. Kids were more Rick’s thing anyway, and they weren’t even Rick’s thing.

Then again, he could be reading a lot more into the situation than he should at the moment. They didn’t know anything. Even what they thought they knew, they didn’t.

“Gah. That boy’s a menace.”

AJ noticed the limp from the most recent attack. Rick wasn’t wrong, but it was funny. AJ snorted.

“That boy is you thirty-some-odd years ago,” AJ said, giving Rick a beatific smile.

“Then I’ve changed my mind,” Rick said with a snarl and then a quick smile of his own. “He’s delightful. Gotta a lot of potential, that one.”

If delightful meant almost being pumped full of lead by a child, then Rick’s definition could stand. AJ didn’t have the first clue what was going on, his mind reeling at finding two children armed with heavy artillery where he’d expected lewd photos of Rosalie Sanchez and her teen daughter. At this point, he didn’t think there was any way to gain the boy’s trust – not matter what the situation, he and Rick were two random strangers who’d barged in on two frightened kids.

“Well, go look for the delightful boy that way.” AJ pointed left. “I’ll go over here. And Rick?” He waited for his brother to look at him. “Try not to be so scary.”

Rick growled, which wasn’t exactly what AJ’d had in mind as not scary. It probably didn’t matter, he reminded himself. They were skulking around like lowlifes, and breaking into motel rooms while wearing dark clothes. They must be terrifying to those boys. He started his search at the far end of the parking lot, where it was the darkest. He didn’t know much, but an idiot could tell Dean was pretty smart. At least the boy was disarmed. He shouldn’t have to worry about being shot at again; AJ had a feeling the kid wouldn’t miss a second time. AJ found himself hoping with some fervor that Rick would be the one to find the kids.

Of course his luck never ran good on command, so it didn’t happen that way. 

AJ heard a small thump as he neared a big ice bin, followed by the clatter of cubes against each other and the metal siding. It could just be the ice settling. For some reason, he doubted it. There didn’t seem to be any other place a kid could have disappeared to. He waved to Rick, who was on the far side of the parking lot. AJ bobbed his head to the ice bin and stepped closer. He stood there for a second, debating how to approach this situation. If he threw the lid open, he’d freak the kids out and probably end up with ice lodged somewhere unpleasant.

He stood to the side and gingerly eased the lid open, peering into the bin. Dean crouched there as if ready to spring, but his face reflected that he knew how bad an idea it had been to seek protection in a box full of ice. His brother clung to him, shivering but silent with no sign of his earlier tears.

“Come on out of there.” 

Dean didn’t budge. He looked at a spot beyond AJ’s shoulder, his face tight with anger and fear. Oh, boy.

“Listen, Dean,” AJ tried again. He kept his voice low and hopefully soothing, though he didn’t have any illusions it would endear him to Dean. Kids had body language like adults did, and this one was radiating distrust. “That is your name, isn’t it? That’s what your brother called you.”

“I d-don’t have to talk to you,” Dean said, trembling himself from the cold.

“No, no, you don’t,” AJ said. He heard Rick join him, finally. He didn’t want to take his eyes off the kids. “But you can’t stay in there.”

“I can scream. I’ll scream.”

“Yeah, you could do that,” Rick said, crouching down. He reached into the bin and pulled out a cube of ice, applying it to his swelling lip. “But I think you won’t. You could’ve done that already. Hel...ck. Heck, you could’ve gone to the office for help, but you didn’t.”

That was true. AJ had been too busy playing mental catch-up that he didn’t even think about the whys of Dean’s behavior beyond him and Rick breaking and entering. That alone had to be frightening, he thought with a pang of guilt, but he thought a normal kid would have tried to find someone to help the second he got away. This was far from normal. God, this poor boy. The look on his face now was heartbreaking. He looked like a caged animal and a sad, old man at the same time. AJ decided he wanted to live the rest of his life without ever seeing a look like it again. He wasn’t strong enough to handle it.

“I think deep down you know we don’t want to hurt you.”

“I think you don’t know anything about anything,” Dean said. “You _can’t_.”

AJ believed those words. Whatever had happened to this boy, it was outside their realm of expertise. He wished he could understand, but at the same time was glad he couldn’t. His imagination would do a fine job filling in the blanks. It already was. The best thing to do was to get these kids to the help they needed and wash their hands of the case entirely. He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t break their Peeping Tom’s face himself if they ever caught up with him, and between him and Rick he was the levelheaded one. He spared a glance at his brother – he was right. Rick’s expression was one of barely restrained fury. 

“Maybe not,” Rick said, none of that anger reaching his voice. “But one thing I do know is that you’re not doing your little brother any good by keeping him in this ice box.”

“That’s right,” AJ said, piggybacking on that idea. They were already Bad Cop/Bad Cop, so it couldn’t do any more harm. “Sammy’s feet are turning blue. He’s got to be getting awfully cold.”

Given the way the boy seemed territorially protective of the toddler, those should have been the magic words. Instead, Dean moved one of his own shaky hands and stuffed his brother’s feet in the hem of his T-shirt. AJ had seen plenty of tough nuts crack under pressure. This kid could teach them all a thing or two. 

“All right. Enough fooling around,” Rick said. “Out you come.”

Rick seemed more confident now that his assailant was half frozen as he scooped both boys out of the ice bin with an annoyed huff. Dean did not go gently, but his moves were sluggish. The fight hadn’t gone out of him, yet he still didn’t call out for help. He was scared of them, but AJ thought Dean was more scared of the police; not that Dean had any deep-seated belief that he and Rick were trying to help. It didn’t make sense. But then, nothing had since they’d lifted the bed and found a boy, a baby and a gun instead of incriminating evidence.

“Take the baby,” Rick said.

Oh, not again. AJ pursed his lips and shot his brother a glare.

On cue, the little one lifted his head up and silently assessed first AJ and Rick, before he turned his attention to Dean. His lower lip trembled. He didn’t start crying.

If AJ didn’t know any better, he would say tiny wheels were spinning in that tiny head. He and Rick were being weighed and measured by a two-year-old. After a moment, the baby gave Dean a pat on the shoulder, and then he twisted and reached for AJ. He didn’t know who was the most surprised by it. Judging from the look of betrayal on Dean’s face, it was him.

“You’re not going to grab my nose again, are you?” AJ asked. The toddler had sharp fingernails. When he tried to take Sammy, Dean still wouldn’t let go. 

“Sammy,” Dean said as AJ finally extricated the baby. 

“Take it easy.” Rick had a firm lock on the boy. “The last thing he wants to do is hurt your brother.”

It was like they were stuck in a loop, and believed repeating their good intentions would eventually sink in and make a difference. He was already sure that wasn’t going to happen at all, let alone not while standing in a shady motel’s parking lot. AJ felt Sammy press his cold cheek against his collarbone, and he blinked back more surprise. Well, he had to amend his thoughts. They had one of the boys’ trust. He didn’t think it counted much – weren’t kids Sammy’s age notorious for loving everyone? He’d have to ask Mom. Or maybe not. The last thing he needed was Mom thinking he was interested in having kids.

“Hey,” AJ said quietly, placing a hand awkwardly in the middle of Sammy’s back. He glanced helplessly at Rick, who shrugged and looked as uncertain as he felt. “You’ll be all right now. Just sleep.”

Sammy was, in fact, already sleeping. His easy reactions to everything were as baffling as anything to AJ, and he wondered again what kind of life they’d been exposed to when this much insanity was mundane enough to sleep through almost entirely. 

“Your brother seems to like us,” Rick said.

“My brother’s just a little kid. He doesn’t know any better yet,” Dean said, fire returning as his body regained its temperature. “And he’s tired.”

They’d be standing around all night debating at this rate. If their Peeping Tom was more than a run-of-the-mill pervert, AJ didn’t want to be around when he returned to his motel room. Before now, he’d have said he didn’t have a paternal bone in his body, yet his primary, overriding concern was keeping these boys away from more trauma. He couldn’t be responsible for reining Rick back while he was holding a baby, so it could get very ugly, very fast. The problem was, though, that he wasn’t sure dragging Dean and Sammy to a police station in the middle of the night wouldn’t also constitute trauma. 

“Rick, we need to get them out of here.”

“Right. We’ll head to the p-o-l-i-c…”

“No, no police,” Dean shouted, starting to squirm and kick for all he was worth again. 

AJ blinked, startled by the outburst.

Dean stared at AJ. “I can spell, mister, and I’m not dumb. I know how to spell social services too.”

AJ looked above Dean to Rick, who shrugged at him. Again. His brother hadn’t been much help all night, though he supposed he could blame some of that on wrestling with a wiry, punch-happy child. He had to admit that all things considered he’d drawn the lesser of two evils. Sammy’s breath came in warm puffs against his neck and the child was, for all intents and purposes, a cuddler. 

“I’ll tell them you did bad things to us.” Dean yanked an arm out of Rick’s hold. The fight hadn’t gone out of his eyes, but it seemed he wasn’t a flight risk anymore. He wouldn’t leave as long as AJ had little Sammy. He kept a wary eye on his sleeping brother. “I know we hafta go with you because you’ve got my brother, but no cops.”

There was honest-to-goodness belief that he could bargain his way out of child protective services written all over Dean’s face. AJ wasn’t sure what to make of it, which meant he was still at point A when he should be to at least point M by now. 

“Please,” Dean said then, his assuredness replaced by vulnerability that seemed genuine. “ _Please_.”

Dean’s was a face AJ didn’t know how to say no to. He didn’t understand the protective streak coursing through him, but he couldn’t deny it. He rubbed Sammy’s back, and the baby snuggled against him. He got a picture in his head of two little boys in a crowded police squad room filled with drunks and prostitutes and he didn’t like it.

“We’ll just take them right to Town,” Rick said.

AJ frowned and shook his head. Town was a good friend and would help them if he could. He always did a lot for them, but it wasn’t like the guy was on duty twenty-four hours a day. Even if they got lucky and found the lieutenant in his office, Town might not have any recourse but to lock these boys up for the night. More than any of that, he didn’t want to contribute to the mountain of lies that had probably been told these boys. Eventually their fate would be out of his hands, but for one night maybe, just maybe, he and Rick could make some type of difference to them. He made eye contact with his brother, who looked as uneasy as ever but there was also something else to his expression. AJ could think of only one place he’d want to go if he were little and lost in the middle of the night.

“Mom’s?” he and Rick said simultaneously.

&-&-&

When John Winchester had started on his quest to find (kill) what had destroyed his family almost a year and a half ago, he’d had no idea what he was getting himself into. He still didn’t know nearly enough. There were too many threats out there, more than he could have ever anticipated. Every day that passed brought a new kind of evil to fear and hate. He narrowed his eyes, scanning the house for any sign that might help him gain the access he needed. There were still lights on, a shadow passing by drawn curtains now and again.

He thought of his boys, asleep back in that rathole motel. He trusted Dean, young as he was, to watch out for Sammy, but John was no fool. He knew he was taking a huge risk leaving them alone so much, protective wards and salt nothwithstanding. He knew it wasn’t good for them. He knew most people would call it neglect. He also knew that there was no better option. He didn’t have family to speak of to help with the boys even if he could bear to lose control of them, and Mary’s … he swallowed past a sudden lump. Mary’s parents had been gone for a long time, and the thought of their grisly murders always made him feel uncomfortable. He’d never known what had _really_ happened, and Mary would never give him anything but vague answers and tears. In the end, he’d never truly wanted to know. 

But all these years later, after what happened to Mary, John found himself wondering more than he should about that confusing night and his wife’s reluctance to answer his questions.

Now was not the time to dwell on his own history, ancient or recent. He couldn’t even allow himself to think of his boys in an immediate sense, only in the way that never left the back of his mind. They were why he was here. He had to protect them, and right now the only way he knew how to do that was finding as much evil in the world and eliminating it before it came for his boys. For Sam. After tonight there would be one less danger to them, to anyone. He focused on the house.

If only he’d been able to gain entrance through the usual methods, he’d be done and back on the road again right now. John was fairly certain the Sanchez house had a poltergeist, but after his initial fact-gathering attempt he had been shut out. He was surprised this didn’t happen more often. First impressions being what they were and all, John knew he didn’t come across as trustworthy. Sometimes he was sure new acquaintances believed him dangerous. They weren’t exactly wrong. It was easiest when the cases came to him, not him to the cases, but he rarely got what he wanted anymore. His good life had taken an ugly and irreversible diversion into bad, in nearly all regards.

And right now, that meant to the Sanchez family he was a world class pervert bent on ogling the missus and daughter. Hell, they’d probably pegged him as worse. For civilians, they were on high alert, a frustrating situation but not a roadblock yet. He took his eyes off the house for a second, surveilled the neighborhood in search of the two clowns that had been sicced on him. If they’d been around waiting for him to show up in the Impala, he might have considered leaving the Sanchezes to their haunted house. It turned out borrowing this rusty Plymouth Horizon was a waste of time. Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum weren’t out tonight. He supposed he was lucky they hadn’t gone to the cops. He could handle the small potatoes private investigators with one hand tied behind his back. Cops meant danger for the boys.

John frowned. He didn’t miss the extra distraction the detectives would have caused, but at the same time their absence rang warning bells. That he’d made them easily didn’t mean his two PI tails weren’t good; they were reasonably good at their jobs. He was just better at his. His life and his kids depended on him being the best in any situation. Ultimately, he knew there had to be a reason for them to not stick to him like glue. He wondered if they had gotten to the house before him, that the shapes moving behind curtains were actually Mr. Country Club and Roy Rogers. 

He weighed the options, seriously considering giving up on a case. He hadn’t done that yet, no matter how hairy things had gotten. Right now, sitting in this tin can of a car, it didn’t seem worth it to finish, but he knew it was only a matter of time before the ‘geist became violent. No, interference or not, he had to handle this and get out quick. The Sanchezes were innocents and they needed to be protected, even if they didn’t know it. 

He glanced at his watch. It was well after midnight. Every other house on the block had the lights out. John had figured a half an hour ago that the Sanchez house would not go dark. He kept an eye on the illuminated windows, watching for the silhouettes to stop appearing. It was the only way he’d know they were sleeping. He didn’t like the thought of breaking in, knowing it made him a criminal in everyone’s eyes but his own. If the house were dark, he wouldn’t be sitting there slogging through some great internal debate. 

The bottom line was, the chances of running into nosy detectives and very awake potential victims were impediments he didn’t need. John was learning as he went with this hunting thing, but he already knew poltergeists weren’t something to mess around with. Ideally, he’d get the family out first. Of course, ‘ideally’ wasn’t going to happen, so he rapidly came up with a new plan. Daylight break-ins weren’t something he normally did, but in this case it was the better option. Tomorrow, when the Sanchezes were at work and school, he’d handle the problem. And hope their neighbors weren’t nosy enough to notice him.

Tonight John would spend with his boys. He knew sitting up watching Dean and Sam sleep, faces soft and sweet, wasn’t nearly enough. It didn’t make him a good parent. He only knew he needed it sometimes, to see Dean unguarded as a little boy should be. It could only happen in sleep. The second after Dean woke up every day, he transformed into someone old, weary and sad beyond his six years. John wanted more than anything to let his boys be boys, but that could not happen until he knew they were safe. He knew that meant that it would never happen. There would always be some evil to fight. He hated it, he truly did, that his life was now all about fear, and so by default so were his boys’. 

He drove the Horizon to the near vicinity from which he’d borrowed it, wiping all evidence of himself off the steering wheel, dash and door, and walked quickly back to the Impala. This was as close to a night off as he saw these days, and the soft-hearted boy buried deep within himself dared claw his way almost to the surface. He told himself he deserved the break. He told himself that having the time to bring his sons to Denny’s for a hot breakfast was proof of his love for them. Because pancakes could make everything golden.

He entered the room with hardly a sound, gently nudging the door shut before turning around to take in the sleeping forms of his children. In one heartbeat, he went from loving to frantic. John’s heart beat fast, the sound of his blood rushed in his ears. Instead of finding Dean and Sammy asleep in their bed, he found their bed turned upside down, the room ransacked. Complete panic blinded him for a moment, replaced quickly with rage. Someone or something had his boys, he knew it as surely as anything. Whatever it was, it wasn’t going to live to see the light of day. 

John the hunter resurfaced, pushing father and soft-hearted boy to dark recesses. He surveyed the room with a methodical eye, searched for telltale signs of the supernatural. He found none. With some pride, John noted the shotgun-blast damage to the kitchen cabinets. He saw no blood, a relief and a concern at the same time. Dean didn’t give up without a fight, as John knew he never would. He noticed things had been moved in the kitchen, minor shifts of drinking glasses and bowls and the Lucky Charms cereal box. His mind raced, he drew conclusions based more on gut than logic. The predators here had been human. There were only two people in San Diego who might have the first reason to pay mind to him, even as Emil Waunetka or whoever he was for the day. 

The private detectives. Simon and Simon. God help him, John didn’t think he would even flinch about ending them, if they had taken his boys. They had no idea who they were dealing with. If Dean hadn’t gotten him and Sammy to their designated safe spot, if they were with those two dicks, John would not be totally responsible for his actions. After grabbing what personal belongings that had been left scattered about, he set out on a much different hunt than the one he’d begun earlier in the evening. 

&-&-&

Rick wasn’t sure they were doing the right thing. He also wasn’t sure he knew what the right thing was. That wasn’t unusual for him, but in this case it seemed like a bigger deal. It was the kids. He and AJ had dealt with kids before, sure, but somehow these two were different. He didn’t know how or why, but his gut was telling him so and his gut wasn’t wrong often. 

Mom was going to have a major conniption fit when they showed up at her house with two ragamuffin, scrappy kids; she was usually calm about everything, but that feeling in Rick’s gut told him, among many things, that this was going to be different. This was the straw that’d break Mom’s back. Still, he didn’t disagree that carting them off to the cops wasn’t a particularly good idea either. At least he knew Mom was a good … mom. Yeah, he was rattled. He couldn’t let it show. He had a feeling the older boy would be all over him if he let any sign of indecision slip.

“Well,” Rick said quietly to AJ, while he kept a wary eye and hand on the boy, Dean, “do you think we oughta grab their stuff? Maybe the baby’s got a security blanket or somethin’.”

“You might be hanging onto his security blanket right now,” AJ said, with a nod of his head.

The baby snuggled against AJ like he could snooze anywhere, but Rick would lay money down on the fact the kid was sleeping only because his brother was right there. He was too young to be as fierce about it as Dean was, but the pair of them had an obvious, tight connection; they had to, in their situation. Rick frowned at his own baby brother and wished he could say the same for them. Most days, he thought AJ had been switched at birth or something and he wasn’t so dense he didn’t get that AJ thought the exact same thing about him. Didn’t mean he didn’t love the guy. Didn’t mean he wouldn’t do anything for AJ.

“I think you’re right about that, AJ.” Rick squinted at the truck for a second, thinking. “They’ll need fresh clothes. Diapers.”

“He only wears ‘em at night now,” Dean said. He glowered when Rick and AJ gaped down at him. He spoke slower, like they were idiots. “He’s already mostly potty trained. It doesn’t matter, we won’t be here tomorrow anyway.”

If the kid weren’t anything but a kid, Rick might have considered that a threat of some kind. He didn’t exactly know what the threat was, but it was there in the kid’s tone and body language. It practically radiated off him. Rick shot a look at AJ, who stared at Dean as if the kid were going to punch one of them in the nose. The boy just might, and his attention was more keenly on AJ. Now that would be a nice change of pace on this crazy night, and he had to admit some small part of him would enjoy seeing someone else get popped by the junior prizefighter. Even AJ.

“You’re right,” Rick said. “You’ll be somewhere else.”

Tomorrow at this hour this poor kid and his poor baby brother would be in the custody of a social worker, probably a foster family. Rick wasn’t sure which, and he tried to pretend the details didn’t really matter, tried to pretend these kids were likely going to go from a rotten situation to an only slightly less rotten one. He knew one thing for sure, and that was he was going to enjoy putting this pervo bastard away for good. Getting their mystery man was going to be so gratifying. It was all he could do, except give the boys one night of peace before their lives turned into that different brand of chaos. Well, maybe he could also talk Mom into making fresh waffles in the morning. Dean looked like a waffle man, and he thought he might need the comfort food himself by seven AM. 

“I’ll get them to the truck. You go in and grab whatever looks like it’s theirs,” AJ said. He shifted between his feet and scoped out the dim parking lot. “We should get out of here sooner rather than later, if you know what I mean.”

Twofold. Their perp could come back in the middle of this rescue attempt, or some lowlife could come out of the shadows and make things all kinds of messy for them. They’d been lucky so far, but in this neighborhood luck wasn’t something to be counted on for long. He nodded at AJ and returned to the room. Giving a frown to the abandoned shotgun, Rick kicked it aside and picked up the raggedy, one-eyed teddy bear that had been lying next to it. One of its legs was stitched onto its body with coarse, black thread, and that was somehow one of the saddest things he’d ever seen. Rick hadn’t thought it possible to become any angrier about this mess. He’d been wrong. 

“Looks like you’ve seen some hard times, Mr. Bear. It’s time for a better home,” Rick said to the toy, whose head tilted to the side as if it were sentient and pondering the idea. 

He reconsidered the plan. Taking them to Mom’s might be the nice thing to do, but they should run like hell to the cops. He and AJ were not equipped to deal with a kidnapper/pedophile/child pornographer/whatever this guy was, and they both knew it. He just had to figure out a way to bring his change of heart up with AJ, because little Dean was sharp as a tack and would scream bloody murder at the mere hint of a cop shop. He wouldn’t doubt the kid was even now concocting stories about him and AJ, in case they reneged on their no-police verbal agreement. 

If they weren’t going to handle the kids tonight, he thought he’d phone in a tip about suspicious activity at the Dolphin Motel. He didn’t want this chump to make a break for it, though, he thought with a cringe, chances were he wouldn’t leave without trying to get the children.

All of a sudden, Rick itched to get out of there. He found a duffel bag filled with child-sized clothing and a few old comic books. Not wanting to spend any more time in the room, Rick shoved the bear into the bag and left. He glanced back one last time, then clicked the door shut. Whether they took the kids to the authorities or to Mom’s, he felt good about getting them away from this place.

As he approached the truck, he couldn’t help but notice two things: the uncomfortable expression on AJ’s face which remained firmly in place, and the I’m-not-interested-in-this-but-I-am expression on Dean’s as the boy studied the interior of the Power Wagon. Rick smiled. He was actually starting to think he could like this boy. He had good taste. He was feisty. He seemed resilient given the situation. 

“Got your things, kid,” Rick said when he opened the door. He tossed the duffel on the floor near AJ’s feet and looked at Dean. “Like the truck?”

Dean snapped to attention, fixing his gaze on the windshield. He clamped his mouth closed and kept his back ramrod straight as Rick started the truck and got them on the road.

 _Shit_ , Rick thought, _what kind of life has this kid lived?_ He caught a worried frown from AJ. Rick raised his eyebrows and mouthed “Town” at his brother, who at least had the courtesy of pausing a second before pursing his lips and shaking his head. One look at the rosy-cheeked sleeper snuggled against AJ had Rick hedging again. That baby didn’t need exposure to whatever the drunks and prostitutes were carrying. 

“Mom’s probably going to kill us,” he muttered.

“I’ll handle Mom,” AJ said just as quietly. “It’s only for the night, until we can get them some real help.”

“We don’t _need_ your stupid help,” Dean said, seeming angrier, tougher and more panicked than ever. “We don’t need your m-mom’s help.”

Rick frowned at the slight stutter. Instinctively, he knew something was there, something more than a kid trying to find his way out of a scary spot. He had no idea why he cared, but at the same time he couldn’t not. 

“Speaking of moms, where exactly is yours, Dean?” he asked. He heard Dean gasp, a small sound the boy wasn’t able to keep from escaping. Rick didn’t look down. He didn’t want to, because he knew what he was doing was shitty. He pressed the issue, though. “Where is she in all this mess? I can’t believe she’d like you holed up in a motel with your little brother like that. Did the bad man take you from her?”

“You shut up about my mom. You don’t know anything.” Dean punctuated the order with a sharp, expertly placed jab to Rick’s ribcage. Then another. “You shut up about my dad too.”

Rick struggled to keep the truck under control, stunned by the strength of the punch but also at the confirmation that their perp was the kids’ father. He’d like to be relieved they weren’t standard kidnap victims. He wasn’t, not even a little. 

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I won’t mention it again,” Rick said. He really was very sorry he’d gone there. He more than suspected the kid’s mother was either across the globe, or was more likely dead. These kids probably had a dead mother and a screwed up fuck of a father. Jesus. “You’re loud and clear, buster.”

The rest of the ride was made in silence, though Rick could feel both AJ and Dean looking at him off and on. He could also feel how the boy shook like was about ready to fly apart with anger and fear. Rick abandoned all thoughts of taking the boys to the police, a surge of what he supposed might be paternal instinct overpowering logic. Town would understand and help them out tomorrow. Well, no. Town wouldn’t understand at all, but he _would_ help them. 

Mom’s house was dark and quiet. It looked like a refuge to Rick, as it almost always did. Tonight, more than ever the familiar angles and planes were more like welcoming arms than walls and roof. He was under no illusion that a plate of waffles in the morning was going to make anything better, not really, but Mom would still give these boys some tiny amount of comfort before they were tossed to the foster system. That option was looking better and better. But if that guy actually was their father, he and AJ could be in some serious trouble and be bona fide kidnappers. Even if the guy was an abusive son of a bitch. This world was too screwed up to think about most of the time.

To his great surprise, Dean didn’t make any aggressive moves when he leaned to retrieve the duffel bag before Rick slid out of the truck, ushering the kid to follow out the driver’s side while AJ struggled with the sleeping baby and his door. He knew the boy wouldn’t run, but he expected to have his eye blackened by a well placed kick or two. It almost looked like the fight had gone out of Dean, save for the sullen, clenched jaw and stormy eyes. Had he said lately how much Mom was going to kill them? He wasn’t sure the magic of Cecilia Simon was strong enough to enchant Dean. He clamped a hand on Dean’s shoulder, a bit of overkill, but he didn’t want to risk anything. By the time he and the boy made it to the sidewalk, he could see lights turning on in answer to AJ’s knocking.

“I don’t even want to kn…” Cecilia started to say. The bored, almost put-upon expression on her face changed to one of astonishment. “Boys! _Who_ on earth are these little darlings?”

“Hi, Mom,” AJ said, trying the sunny approach with a smile.

It looked like AJ banking on his charm winning any favors was a bad bet. Cecilia Simon’s reaction to her sons showing up on her doorstep with two kids was icy. 

“Don’t you ‘Hi Mom’ me, young man.” She tightened the belt of her robe, eyeing the toddler in AJ’s arms first and then Dean. “I expect you two have a good explanation for this, and I can’t wait to hear it.”

“It’s only for the night, Mom,” Rick said.

Cecilia raised a hand in the air, silencing any further attempts they might make to explain before they even started. Her expression softened as she leaned down to Dean. 

Rick was afraid his mother was going to end up with a fist to the nose. He gripped Dean’s shoulder a little more tightly, earning a frown from his mother. Well, too bad. His ribs still ached and he was pretty sure his lower lip had swollen to twice its normal size. He was not taking any chances.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Cecilia asked.

“Dean,” Dean said, in that same gruff voice but which now seemed so much nicer. 

“I’m Cecilia.” She pointed to Sam. “Who’s this little one?”

“M’brother.” Still nice as pie. “His name’s Sam. I call him Sammy.”

“I don’t know what’s been going on, but if Rick and AJ think you should be here, they must have a good reason. And you must be almost as tired as your brother. What do you say we find you someplace to go get some sleep?”

“Okay, that would be good,” Dean said. He even smiled. “Sometimes milk helps make me sleepier faster.”

“I have just the thing,” she said.

Cecilia straightened and looked at Rick, eyebrow arched. Hell to pay was putting it mildly. She pursed her lips as she led them to the kitchen, where she made quick work of getting Dean a heaping plate of cookies to go with his glass of milk. While the boy ate in silence, guarded by him and AJ, she put linens on the sofa as she glared repeatedly at them. The couch was plenty big enough for both of the boys. By the time she was done and back in the kitchen, Dean had polished off half the cookies and gulped his milk as if it might be taken away at any moment. 

They all trooped to the sitting room, where Cecilia helped detach Sammy from AJ’s arms. Her face softened further still at the sleepy noises the little one made when she set him down and at how compliantly Dean clambered onto the other end of the makeshift bed. The boy smiled sweetly when Cecilia rooted through the duffel bag, pulling out the ragged teddy bear and tucking it next to Sam.

Rick was confused yet again. It was like the kid had undergone a complete personality change in the span of a few minutes. Mom’s cookies were good, but they couldn’t perform miracles. He had no idea which kid was the real one. Maybe Dean was a real angel.

“Cecilia?” Dean murmured. 

“Yes, dear?”

“You seem like a nice lady.” He blinked, shaking his head. He looked grave. “So, for you, I’m really sorry my dad is going to kill your sons.”

But then again, maybe not.

&-&-&

Dean felt kind of bad when he saw the look on Cecilia’s face even though he’d told her the truth. Dad was going to kill these guys, or at least beat them up. Sometimes hearing the truth hurt. He knew that. Someone old like Cecilia had to know that too. He turned so he faced the back of the sofa. He didn’t want to look at these strangers anymore, plus it was easier to spy that way. He pretended to go to sleep fast, almost accidentally doing it. His stomach was full of cookies and milk, the taste of chocolate still in his mouth, and he was nearly as tired as he was angry. He shouldn’t have eaten them or had the milk. Dad would never have made that kind of mistake. Dad wouldn’t have panicked and hidden in the wrong place, either. 

Dean swore he would do better next time if this ever happened again, that was all.

He heard the grownups leave the room, and soon after that heard them arguing. Dean couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the sound of their voices was enough for him to know they weren’t happy. He had also been telling the truth when he’d told Cecilia she was nice. Unlike Rick and AJ, he had gotten a good feeling about her the second he saw her. She looked safe, somehow. So he really did feel bad about making her upset, but not that bad. Her sons were the ones who wanted to take him and Sammy away from Dad, and that made them bad and him mad. Maybe almost as mad as Dad was going to be when he found out. 

Sammy made a soft smacking noise and shifted on the sofa, like he was dreaming. He always moved around when he dreamed, sometimes hitting Dean with his small fists and kicking him in the belly, sometimes throwing a chubby arm across Dean’s neck. It usually woke Dean up, but he didn’t mind. Tonight he didn’t want to worry about what his brother might be dreaming or that he might roll off the couch or something. He didn’t want to worry about Sammy waking up and being sad or confused. 

Dean was supposed to be pretending to sleep, but he decided it would be better if he did that next to his brother. He scooted to the other end of the sofa and took up a post on the outer edge of the cushion, keeping Sammy on the inside where he’d be safest. Sam’s hair tickled. Instead of pulling away, Dean pushed his nose against his brother’s head to keep him still and to keep the tickling from getting too bad. He should have known better, as Sam started wriggling more right away. Sammy always fussed when he felt like he was being held in place, trapped. Dean didn’t let up, though. Just for a second, he hugged his brother.

“I won’t let them keep us,” Dean whispered in Sammy’s ear. “I know where to go, Sammy. I just don’t know how to get there yet. They can’t keep us from Dad.”

Somehow he had to get him and Sammy out of there. If he could get out of this house, they’d be okay. Dean understood what it meant to have no choices. He had no choice here. He couldn’t stay. It didn’t matter that they’d driven a _long_ way away from the motel, from Dad, or that he had no idea what direction to go once they got away. Those were small things. He remembered how Rick had talked about Mom, his stomach started hurting. He already didn’t have a mom. He couldn’t let these people take them away from Dad too. Not happening. Sam’s foot kicked, hit Dean in the leg. Dean let go of his brother, but stayed close.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Don’t worry, Sammy.”

But Dean was worried. The voices outside the room got louder. He heard words he didn’t like. Abuse. Sick. Foster. Prison. Hearing them, though, he knew he didn’t have time to be mad or upset about Mom or anything else. Dad always told him to keep his head. Until now, he wasn’t sure what that meant exactly. Now he knew and it made him feel worse, even though he tried to make himself strong. He heard footsteps coming closer, so he shut his eyes and tried to look fast asleep. He’d learned to fake it a long time ago, so he could get up and watch TV all by himself when Dad left for the night. He could fool these people, easy peasy mac and cheesy.

“Look at them,” Cecilia said. “It about breaks my heart.”

“Funny, what that one about broke on me is my nose, maybe a couple ribs.”

“Rick, he’s just a boy. He couldn’t hurt you. You can’t blame him for trying, either. He was probably terrified.”

Cecilia had that mom-voice Dean remembered his own mom using with his dad sometimes, the one that was love and disappointment at the same time. He heard Rick snort like he didn’t believe what his mom just said. Good. No one could ever know when Dean was scared. That was important. Dad said it was. It was easier to make men believe he was tough than women, and Dean didn’t know why. He would have to learn that sometime. Right now, he didn’t care. Right now, he had to believe that Rick was right, that he was _not_ scared. He knew he could never really convince anyone else if he couldn’t convince himself. 

“Terrified, maybe, but he’s really very capable for a little boy,” AJ said. “Look at Rick’s lip.”

“You’re not going to let that one go, are you?” 

“Not for a _long_ time.”

“Hmm.”

Dean smelled powder and something sweet a second before hands began touching his hair. He tried hard not to move, when that was all he wanted to do. It was Cecilia, and her hands moved from his hair to his shoulder and arm and all over. The touch wasn’t bad, but it bothered him anyway. He didn’t know what she was doing. Her hands left him and by the way Sam started wiggling, he knew she was touching Sammy too. It was even harder to pretend he was sleeping then, but he did it. The touching stopped, and he felt something soft and fuzzy pulled over him up to his shoulders. It was a blanket and it had the same powdery, sweet smell as Cecilia. 

“Are you boys sure about this?” she murmured. “There doesn’t seem to be a mark on them.”

“Maybe not any physical ones,” AJ said. He sounded softer than Rick, always. “That doesn’t mean they haven’t been hurt badly.”

“Jesus,” Rick said. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore tonight. I’m not sure I want to talk about it, ever.” 

The grownups were quiet for a long time. Dean could tell they were staring at him and Sammy. He could hear them breathing. All he had to do was wait and they would go away or something. He could do it. Dad would watch him and Sam for an hour straight sometimes. He could wait and then he could figure out how to get out of there. 

“Well, I doubt I’m going to get any sleep now,” Cecilia said with a sigh. “You boys up for some coffee?”

“Sounds great, Mom,” AJ said. 

“We get cookies too, right?” Rick asked. 

“I don’t think you deserve any cookies, sweetheart.” Cecilia’s voice got quieter as they all moved from the room again. “You two have pulled some crazy stunts over the years, but I’m not letting you smile your way out of this one.”

Dean knew he liked Cecilia for an actual reason, not just a feeling he had. It was because she was nice _and_ smart. He was starting to think she was a pretty good mom. Moms weren’t always supposed to let their kids have cookies, especially when they were naughty. Dean saw that on TV all the time. He knew his mom would have always had cookies for him, though, and for Sammy too. He scrunched his eyes tight, rubbing at them with a knuckle to make the tears go away. He didn’t have time to be a big crybaby. Sometimes he just really, really missed his mom. Sometimes he hated it that other people got to be big and they still had their moms but he didn’t.

Sammy wriggled, jostling the couch and Dean. He didn’t mind the distraction. He settled in, ready to deal with his brother dreaming and kicking again, but it didn’t happen. He opened his eyes a crack and found Sam had turned to face him, Dean’s old teddy bear on his tummy, and his eyes were open too. Sammy was half-asleep and there was gross stuff in the corners of his eyes, but he smiled a little as he patted Dean on the arm. Then he squeezed the bear close and went back to sleep. 

Dean reminded himself it wasn’t just so they could get away that he had to be brave and strong. It was for Sam. It was for Dad, too, but mostly it was for Sam, and it was all the time not only tonight. He didn’t know if it would be his job if his mom hadn’t died, but it didn’t matter because his mom did die and now he had to make sure Sammy always knew things were okay. Dad would do it instead of him, only Dean thought maybe his dad was too busy keeping them safe to do that too. That was Dad’s way of showing them things were okay. Dean believed that. He had to.

The smell of coffee drifted into the room. Dean heard the clink of cups, slight thumping of cupboards closing, and the voices of the grownups were now like a soft buzzing noise. He wasn’t sure if they were far enough away for him to get Sammy out of there without them noticing. Maybe if he hadn’t tried so hard to run before, Rick and AJ wouldn’t think he would try to get away now. They wouldn’t think that maybe he could. He couldn’t take it back now. Dad always said what was done was done. Dean decided the only way he could know for sure if the grownups were far enough away was to get up and see where they were. He could be sneaky and quiet, and he needed to know if there was another door or window that wouldn’t be hard to get Sammy out of. 

He turned onto his back, staring at the dark shapes in the room for a minute. There was a beam of light, not very bright, coming through the open doorway so Dean knew which way the kitchen was. He lifted the blanket off him and rolled off the couch. Sammy moved around the second Dean was gone, but didn’t wake up again. 

“I’ll be right back, Sammy,” he whispered. 

Dean only made it to the door when he heard the grownups moving again. The footsteps were heavy, the men. He froze, heart beating fast. He was too far away from the couch to get back and pretend to be asleep again. All he could do was stand there and try not to panic. They might not notice him if he didn’t move. The footsteps didn’t come close, though. He heard a slight swoosh of a door opening, talking too quiet to understand, and the door shutting again. Then a minute later, the big truck starting and driving off. Even though he hadn’t been caught, his heart kept beating fast. Someone had left. Rick or AJ or both of them. Dean smiled. They must be real big dummies leaving him and Sammy alone with an old lady. 

With the house all quiet now, Dean could hear the shuffle of Cecilia walking. She was heading for him and Sam, but she was old so he thought he had a chance to make it to the sofa in time. He ran and slid back under the blanket next to Sammy, trying to slow his breathing so he sounded asleep. He could tell Cecilia was close, but she hadn’t come in the room yet. He started to get nervous because she stayed at the door for a long time, not moving. She was just an old lady. That didn’t mean he could save him and Sam if she stood at the door staring. 

“You can stop pretending, young man,” Cecilia said at last, her voice low. “I know very well that you’re not sleeping.”

Dean stiffened. He didn’t move otherwise, hoping she was only guessing. She had to be guessing. If he could fool Dad, he had to have fooled these people. He waited. Cecilia moved into the room more. She wasn’t going to leave them alone. Crappy crap crap, anyway. That bad feeling was in his stomach stronger than ever. What if he couldn’t get them to the safe place? Dad didn’t come back in time to save them before, what if he didn’t this time either? That couldn’t be possible. Dad was the greatest.

“Come on, sweetheart.” Cecilia’s voice was so close now. “It’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay. Dean was very afraid it would never be okay again and that he had screwed up and lied to Sammy about that. He didn’t think he liked Cecilia that much anymore, either.

&-&-&

“Mom, are you sure you’re okay with this?” AJ asked. 

He didn’t like it, but he didn’t like any of their other options either. Their perp was still out there somewhere, and the thought of sitting here even for one night doing nothing if they could stop him was not acceptable. He suspected a guy like that would do one of two things when he found those kids gone. One, bolt or two, try to find them. Frankly, AJ didn’t want to take the chance on either of those. He wished he’d considered the latter before bringing the boys to Mom’s house in the first place. In the end, that second possibility was what fueled the decision to take action, no matter how illogical it was. There was very little way the guy would even know where to start looking, so Mom and the boys were safe.

He and Rick needed to check on the Sanchez home, and he admitted he hoped they might get lucky and run into their guy. An hour or so of cooling down from the shock of finding two abused little boys had helped curb some of his anger. Mom’s calming presence had helped, as it always did. He didn’t think the first thing he’d do upon contact with the pervert was punch his lights out anymore. Rick, on the other hand, could still use more time if the persistent darkness in his eyes was anything to go by. His brother never was very good at letting go. That was what made him a good investigator, but at the same time reckless.

“I swear you’re making it sound like they’re holy terrors. It’s not like you brought a pair of hardened criminals to my door. I’ll be fine. They seem like sweet little boys.” Mom gave him and Rick a weary, knowing look. “Besides, I survived you two, didn’t I?”

“Aw, we were good kids.”

“Richard Simon, I had a full head of gray by the time I hit forty and you being such a hellion had a lot to do with that,” Mom said. 

AJ started to chuckle, but sobered when Mom fixed a glare on him.

“It was all monkey-see, monkey-do with you, so you’ve got no reason to laugh. And for the record I’m _still_ surviving the both of you.”

“We love you, Mom,” he and Rick said at the same time.

Mom didn’t look impressed. “I’ll send a search and rescue team if you’re not back by morning,” she said and shut the door before they could say any more.

They stood there for a moment, silently studying the detailed wood of the door. AJ raised his eyebrows and turned slightly. Rick was doing the same. They made eye contact and both of them bit back smiles as they pivoted away from the house and headed toward the truck. He didn’t feel better about leaving Mom alone, but he also knew better than to underestimate her. Sometimes it took a bit of reminding that she wasn’t exactly helpless, that was all.

“We have to find this guy before he splits, or worse,” Rick said as he pulled the truck into the street. “The bad feeling in my gut won’t go away.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” 

AJ wasn’t surprised he and Rick were on the same page. They might approach things differently, but in the end were more alike than either of them were likely to ever admit. He gazed out the window at the quiet, dark houses. Everything looked so normal and safe. He imagined very few people around here gave much thought to all the bad things that happened in this world. 

“I can’t stop thinking about what those kids must have gone through already in their short lives,” AJ said softly. “I’m even trying to come up with scenarios that aren’t atrocious. Not having any luck with that.”

AJ heard an unhappy growl, but Rick said nothing. That had become a standard response tonight and it really did sum up things quite well. He knew they were being ruled by gut feeling more than cold, hard facts, and that was part of the reason he wanted to find the guy responsible. He wanted answers straight from the jackass’s mouth. On a baser level, he wanted the satisfaction of telling this guy the objects of his abuse would never be hurt by him again. He knew it was a White Knight reaction. He didn’t much care.

Rick steered the car to the Sanchezes and they went on high alert, looking for prowlers or any signs of activity. The neighborhood was dark except the Sanchez house, and AJ saw no cars out of the ordinary. Despite the lights, he knew the family must be sleeping. Knocking on their door at 1:30 AM wasn’t advisable. The house looked secure and, funnily enough, the Peeping Tom thing was not at the top of the priority list anymore. 

“We should head to the office,” Rick said, already steering the truck in that direction. “Maybe the Sanchezes had a problem earlier and left a message. Anyway, I need to pick up a few items before we stake out the motel for our guy.”

“We can’t hurt him, Rick.”

“For crying out loud. I’m not going to hurt him, AJ.” 

Rick’s response was immediate, indignant and exasperated, which led AJ to believe the only thing his brother was thinking about was hurting the guy. This was working out to be one of those times Rick’s stubbornness could prove to be a problem. They had to be careful. They’d already be in trouble for basically kidnapping those kids, but if they added assault and battery to someone they only suspected of abuse not even Town would be able to save their backsides.

“Rick, I mean it. We’re going into this blind, and the last thing we want is to give this guy an out,” AJ said.

“Can the lecture, kid. I’m really not in the mood.”

AJ never intended to sound like he was lecturing, but he knew he often came across that way anyway. He also knew he wasn’t telling Rick anything he didn’t already know. Sometimes Rick needed non-subtle cues to let go of the bone he was chewing on, and that usually resulted in his brother being angry with _him_ more than the situation. AJ didn’t like it – often thought it was unfair, in fact – but that way Rick was less likely to go off half-cocked and that was a good thing. He’d learned a long time ago that being the voice of reason wasn’t always fun.

“You think their mother’s dead?” AJ asked after a minute. He couldn’t stop thinking about that, either, and grasping at the hope that somewhere out there someone loved little Dean and Sam and would come for them.

“You saw how the kid reacted. If the mother isn’t dead, I’ll eat my hat.”

AJ suddenly pictured how he used to wait by the window, so excited for Rick to get home from school so they could play cops and robbers and pirates and whatever stupid thing _he_ wanted. Every day, it was the same thing. He could still feel that thrill of happiness, and he could also remember when that changed. AJ didn’t remember much except vague hints here and there about their father, pieces cobbled together with photographs and stories, certain smells and sounds triggering more concrete memories. He didn’t remember the time surrounding Jack Simon’s death in any other terms than noticing a drastic difference in Rick and Mom, how they smiled and laughed less often, and how at first he hadn’t been quite able to understand why Dad was never around anymore. 

But there was one day in particular AJ remembered like it was yesterday. He could see vividly the day when Rick came home from school with torn clothes, blood on his upper lip and tear tracks dried and salty on his cheeks. Tears. His big brother. AJ had immediately burst into his own fresh tears, though he didn’t know why. He remembered Mom cleaning Rick up and Rick’s, “I don’t feel like playing today, little brother” and getting more upset about that than about all the rest of it. 

Later he found out Rick had gotten into a fight after school because a dumb kid had said something mean about him not having a dad anymore. At the time AJ still hadn’t understood, but he sure did now.

“Yeah,” AJ said softly. “You’re probably right.”

It was much worse, somehow, knowing the Sam and Dean’s mother was gone and they had been left with a father so twisted and broken he had fast tracked right into a sexual predator. AJ had a very bad feeling that simple voyeurism wasn’t what the guy had planned for Rosalie or Cristina Sanchez. He didn’t want to allow his ample imagination to come up with a list of possibilities, not the least of which was rape. It was odd that he was targeting women, though, while holding onto boys. AJ was no profiler, but he wasn’t sure it was likely for a predator to play both sides of the fence. A thought niggled at him, a mental red flag. 

“You comin’ or what?” Rick asked.

Only when Rick’s voice pulled him from his musings did AJ realize the truck was parked in front of their office. He nodded and slid out, following a few steps behind Rick. This whole situation was so messed up he didn’t know up from down. The problem was that warning bells were going off for so many disparate things he didn’t know which he should focus on, which ones were tolling for the true danger. Confusion wasn’t a good state to be in during an active case, especially on one so potentially sticky. Now wasn’t the time for him to be in a quandary about which warning bell to listen to. Where Rick was impetuous, AJ knew he tended to over think. Speaking of Rick, he had brother-wrangling to do.

Rick barged into the office like a bull, headed straight for his desk without bothering to switch on any lights. 

AJ sighed. He shut the door with a quiet snick and reached for the light switch. The last thing he expected was the dark shadows to come to life, or for his arm to be locked in a tight, painful grip and twisted around, up his back. Instinct had him fighting to break free, but it was too late. A strong arm wound around his chest, a hand tilted his head back and cut off his air. All he could do with any degree of prowess was choke as he felt something cool and hard press under his jaw.

“I don’t know what you’re spluttering about. I already told ya, A…” 

Whatever Rick was going to say next faded into nothing as dim light from Rick’s desk lamp flooded the room. With a barrel of a gun jammed into his jaw, AJ’s gaze was limited to the upper half of the room. He didn’t have to see Rick to know his brother had discovered his predicament. If he weren’t a logical, sensible person, he’d think he could actually taste the tension in the air. 

“Uh,” AJ said.

The guy tightened the arm around his chest and frogmarched him a few steps deeper into the office. The gun stayed pressed into his jaw, but his arm was released and left to dangle at his side, all pins and needles. In seconds, AJ found an arm crooked across his throat, the pressure across his chest gone and the barrel of the gun jabbed into his side instead. His head wasn’t tipped back anymore and now he could see straight ahead. He noted two things at once – Rick aiming his .44 Magnum steadily just above AJ’s left shoulder and a cobweb thread dangling from Rick’s lamp. He dismissed the cobweb and focused on Rick. He was too damned close now for Rick to use the gun without damaging him right along with his captor, and AJ thought everyone in the room had to know that. 

“Put it down,” the guy spoke, his voice rough and deep. He sounded like an adult, ominous version of the boy, Dean. 

A switch flipped in AJ’s brain. Oh holy shit, no way. There should have been _no way_ the guy could know he and Rick were onto him. AJ caught Rick’s eye, saw the glimmer of understanding when it dawned on him too. If this guy knew about and found them, he could find Mom, with or without their cooperation at this point. 

“This doesn’t have to get messy. Put. It. Down,” the guy repeated. 

AJ tried not to, but wheezed when the arm constricted tighter around his throat, the gun dug into his side.

“I have no qualms with blowing a big hole right through Mr. Country Club here if I have to, Roy Rogers.”

“Okay, okay,” Rick said in capitulation. “You win. Let my brother go.”

“I think you ought to tell me where my boys are,” the man growled. “Then I might consider it.” 

AJ didn’t scare easily; that wasn’t a trait conducive to his line of business. This guy’s voice was scary as all get out. They were in “you don’t mess around with Jim” territory here. He tried to convey that to Rick, but it was a challenge getting a useful breath in let alone attempt wordless communication. 

“Your boys? What does that mean? If you’re in need of our services, you can come back during business hours. Gotta say, though, missing persons is more cop territory than ours.” 

Rick was trying the clueless angle, which AJ would normally have supported wholeheartedly. He would have joined right in on that. He’d do it now if he could. All he managed was a high-pitched gurgling noise that didn’t sound entirely human and a shoulder shrug that felt a bit more like a convulsion. 

“Do you really want to play this bullshit game?”

Death by suffocation was not fun, AJ thought. It was definitely on his list of ways he did not want to go. Especially not tonight. He heard a slight buzz in his ears and the dim light got even dimmer around the edges. He didn’t remember any of these feelings the last time he had been choked out. Of course he’d been dosed with enough angel dust to put down an elephant, so it was no wonder he didn’t remember. And it had been Rick’s arm around his throat, doing the only thing he could at the time.

“Mister, I don’t know who you ar –” Once again, Rick’s thought remained incomplete. 

The buzz in AJ’s ear got louder, more like ringing. The guy behind him startled, barely perceptible, but enough to permit AJ gulps of much-needed air. It helped some; it also made him see nothing except tiny bursts of light. He heard a few bumps and thuds and he was bodily moved around. None of it made sense to him. All he really cared about was that he could breathe.

“I should get that.”

There went the breathing. AJ should have known it was too good to last.

“No, you shouldn’t.”

“Look, fella, we don’t get a lot of calls at two in the morning. It’s gotta be an emergency.”

Anyone but AJ wouldn’t hear the anger and fear in Rick’s voice, only the nonchalance. Even oxygen-starved, AJ heard it. _Jesus, just let me breathe_.

“I said no. Tell me where my boys are. Now.”

The answering machine kicked in. AJ heard his own voice delivering the outgoing message with precision. Huh. He did sound a bit snooty like Rick always said he did. He wondered if he might be having an out of body experience. 

“Rick? AJ? Are you there? I tried calling you at the other numbers you gave us, but – ” Something crashed in the background and the words were replaced by a terrified scream. Then the trembling voice of Rosalie Sanchez was back. She sounded nearly as breathless as AJ felt. “Oh please, help us. You’re not there, you’re … I’m going to call the police. I should have… He’s done … there’s something…”

The dial tone was the last thing AJ heard before everything went dark.

&-&-&

Finding the Simons had been easy. John knew he could have gone hunting, searched San Diego high and low and found them that way as well. Stopped them in their tracks, wherever they were. The problem was he didn’t know how long ago they’d discovered and taken the boys. He’d staked out the Sanchez place for hours, and that left too big a window for the worst to happen. All he really knew was that Dean hadn’t been able to make it to the housekeeping closet just outside the manager’s office. It was the place he’d told the boy to barricade in, with salt at the door and a sawed-off shotgun in hand, if ever in trouble when John wasn’t around. The knowledge that Dean would have done everything possible to make it to safety with his brother and hadn’t sat like a weight in his stomach.

After brief consideration, he had figured chances were good that his boys had been taken too long ago for him to do any good tracking the detectives down and making them pay nice and slow. He had to be smart about this. He had fought the first instinct of hunt, hurt, kill, and elected to lay in wait instead, let them come to him. It had worked like a charm, because even though the pair of detectives had probably seen their share of deviant humans they were clueless to the real dangers in the world. They were careful, but they weren’t monster-hunting careful. They had never expected anyone to be in their office.

John had had a solid hour of waiting in the Simons’ dark office where he poked into their desks and files, memorized home addresses in case he was wrong about them stopping at work. The more information he had on them, the better, and it hadn’t taken him long to know more about them than they would ever know about him or his boys. It was an hour separated by more than miles from boys, though, and all the while the rage inside him had percolated to the point it actually felt _good_ to have his arm wrapped tightly around Country Club’s throat. 

“Oh please, help us. You’re not there, you’re … I’m going to call the police. I should have…” 

The Sanchez woman’s voice embodied terror that could not be muted by the phone line or the metallic twang of the answering machine. John had seen and heard so much of that kind of fear in the last fifteen months, he recognized immediately her situation was not to be trifled with. And that he’d made at least one critical error. He’d been too slow. He’d allowed outside factors to delay his work, and now innocent people were paying for it. So were his boys. He had to work on that for future hunts, hone his skills further. He didn’t want to just be good at this, he had to be the best. He moved closer to the phone, ready to pick it up and tell Rosalie Sanchez to get off the damned line and get her family out of the house before it was too late.

“He’s done…” Her voice cried out again, more of a whimper than a scream. She sounded garbled, out of her mind with fear. “There’s something… Josh, look –”

 _Damn it._ The blond one slumped in his grasp just as Mrs. Sanchez’s voice cut off. His own boys were priority number one, but damn it, at the same time they couldn’t be. John struggled to hold onto his only piece of leverage, releasing his arm from around the guy’s neck and switching it to a rough hold across his chest again. He maintained aim of the gun against Country Club’s ribcage. 

“AJ,” Rick said, voice losing the careful cadence it had held before. He made a jerky motion and stepped toward John. “Hey, take it easy with him.” 

“Anh,” John said in warning, hefting up AJ, who was already starting to rouse. “Not so fast.”

The dial tone filled the small office, but the frantic voice of Mrs. Sanchez buzzed in his head louder. More than anything, John wanted to force these guys to take him to Dean and Sammy. But he had responsibilities. He could not let another family be torn apart by evil if he could help it. He couldn’t walk away from the poltergeist no matter how much he wanted to. Judging from the tenor of the call, the Sanchez situation required his immediate attention despite his own preference. The droning dial tone switched to the obnoxious beat of a busy signal. John watched Rick punch a finger at a button on the answering machine, cutting off the incoming signal. 

John couldn’t leave these two to go do what needed to be done, not without finding out where his children were first. He couldn’t take the chance even if they did tell him where to find Dean and Sam. The second he was out of their sight, they would have the cops and social service on him so fast his head would spin, and that could not happen as long as he was separated from the boys. He knew this. If he could get Dean and Sammy, he could get all three of them away. Unfortunately, that sneaking suspicion that his boys were already in custody somewhere, “protected” from him, gnawed at his gut. His anger rose again, despite being distracted by the Sanchez problem. 

“Look, man.” Rick held his hands out in front of him, took a careful step toward John and AJ. He did not move out of reach of his weapon. “Something bad is going on down there. Now, I know it can’t possibly be you; you’re here. But we, AJ and I, we have an obligation to that family. Let me call the police for them.”

In that both the Simons and he had responsibility to the Sanchezes, they were not that different. Only, John knew what that commitment entailed. These guys had no clue. None. Under other circumstance he would hate that that was about to change for them. It sucked that anyone had to know, on any level, what he knew in his daily life. But under these circumstances, since the Simon brothers were responsible for taking his sons, well, that made it slightly less bitter pill to swallow. They could do with a dose of the terror he had to live with.

“The police can’t do jack squat for that family,” John said. 

He didn’t like any of his options. Not that he had plural options, not really. He saw Rick’s eyes dart to the .44 on the desk, and he also saw that the guy wasn’t convinced of John’s innocence on the Sanchez or any other matter. For the first time, he got a good look at Rick, proud to see the guy had a split lip. It looked fresh and since he doubted the Simons had gotten into a bar fight or something, John attributed the injury to Dean. Good boy.

“Disarm this one.”

“What?” Rick asked stupidly. 

“Remove any weapons he has concealed on his body, empty any clips and place everything on the desk next to yours.” John made himself speak calmly. There wasn’t time for this shit. “He’s not going to need them. Neither are you, so I want it all off you too. Do it quick.”

Rick looked somewhere between livid and worried, barely restraining himself from making a move. John knew that feeling well, and he knew by something in his gut the guy was ex military, maybe even Marine. He had Vietnam in his eyes. John didn’t feel kinship, no _semper fi_. Once upon a time he would have. Once upon a time that shared experience might have meant friendship. Now it only meant John would have to be extra careful every step of the way, and he didn’t have time for that shit either. But as long as he had AJ, he was almost certain he could control Rick. Speaking of AJ, the guy chose that moment to regain consciousness, squirreling a bit while Rick was removing a .357. 

“Rick?” AJ mumbled, still pretty much out of it. “What … is it morning already?”

If looks could kill, John would be a dead man. The glare Rick gave him didn’t intimidate him in the least. In the world of threats John knew and faced, a dirty look from an average human was a bunny with rabies, only harmful if it got too close. He poked AJ in the ribs, straightening the guy more. He was getting heavy. 

“No, AJ, it’s not morning,” Rick said tightly, while his eyes continued telling John he was dead. 

“Dreamin’. Bad dream.”

“Afraid not.”

“Oh.” AJ got his feet on the ground, standing on his own for the first time since he’d gone out. He twisted his head and shoulders to get a look at John. “Oh. Shit.”

“Yeah,” Rick said

In a way, John took some comfort knowing these two assholes clearly understood family. They seemed close. On the other hand it made the desire to beat them senseless for taking his kids from him lessen, and he needed that fuel. Others ran on adrenaline, caffeine, whatever. John ran on anger and fear. It kept him and his boys alive. So far.

“That’s all of it,” Rick said. 

“Better be,” John said, eyeing the three guns and, surprisingly, one blade. He was almost impressed.

But once the Simons were weapon free, John hesitated again. He was still debating the best way to handle this. He knew what he had to do; getting there was another story. The drive over wasn’t going to be easy. He’d learned a lot in the last few years, but the logistics still gave him a headache at times. Never worse than at this moment, knowing he had to go one direction when his heart was in another. He couldn’t let feelings color his decisions. He remembered what Jim Murphy had told him: hesitation will kill anyone in its path. Jim had proven an immense source of knowledge and support to him, even if he was a servant of a god John could not believe in. 

He also remembered what Missouri Moseley had taught him about banishing poltergeists. Had his original plan not been subverted, John probably could have handled the task on his own. It had escalated too far, and that troubled him. Plus, he wasn’t sure it was going to work. He was never sure anything was going to work until he did it, not at the level he would like. That was another thing he had to work on as this mess of his life continued. He logged everything, took notes for reference in case he encountered the same thing again.

“Okay, now we’re going to take a little road trip,” John said, as resolute as he could be considering how nervous he was. “And when we’re done, you’re going to get me my boys back.”

Rick looked at him like he’d grown a third eye. 

John purposely tightened his arm around AJ’s chest, making him gasp for air again. 

Rick responded with a barely noticeable flinch. 

Control had been established and verified, for the moment anyway. 

“The Sanchez family is losing time. The longer you fight me on this and we stand around talking, the more likely it is they are going to end up hurt or dead,” John said. “You got no reason to trust me, and I know for damned sure I can’t trust you. But right now we all got to play nice. Move.”

Rick complied. 

John realized there was no real way for him to keep the cowboy from making a break for it once outside the office. Brother at gunpoint or no, Rick might think he had a chance. He couldn’t cap one and expect the other to give him … oh, shit. He pulled his thoughts up short. He had just been contemplating putting a bullet in a relatively innocent human being’s back. Take the boys out of the equation and, Jesus, he hated what he was becoming but he _could not stop_. 

The possibility of cold-blooded murder ended up being a non-issue for the time being; Rick didn’t bolt. He didn’t make any move that could be deemed threatening all the way out to the parking lot, due in no small part to the gun at AJ’s back. AJ, too, was as docile as a kitten, though still stumbled a bit on clumsy legs. 

John did not relax his guard.

“No,” John said when Rick headed for his big truck. “We’re taking my car.”

His car. His terms. His control. John motioned for Rick to get behind the wheel, while he maneuvered himself and AJ into the back. For a second or two, it seemed like AJ was getting ready to fight, his muscles tightened and he edged away. A quick glance assured John that AJ was still mostly checked out of the building. Choking the guy had been accidental and it was slightly regrettable, now that he planned on enlisting these two. If the ‘geist was in full-on attack mode, speed was of the essence and three sets of hands were better than one. 

“Not to be pushy or anything, but I was wondering something,” Rick said, that false, nonchalant air back in his voice. “What exactly are we doing?”

“We’re going to the Sanchezes,” John said. 

“Thanks. I figured that one out on my own, buddy.”

“What Rick means is, _why_?” AJ said, lucid no, though he sounded weary and ragged and oddly apologetic. “Why not call the police? Unless that’s already been discussed while I was unconscious, then you can ignore me.”

John wasn’t sure exactly where to begin. There was no way in hell these two would truly get it. He doubted they would believe him for a second until they walked into the chaos with him. He did need them to know a few basics, and he needed to relay the facts without losing control over them. 

The sooner this was done, after all, the sooner John would have his boys back at his side where they were safest.


	2. Chapter 2

They were trapped in a car with a madman, and that wasn’t hyperbole. 

If not for the car’s engine growling more than purring, they might have been able to hear a pin drop. Rick had barely even started getting over walking right into an ambush and seeing AJ choked out right in front of him; no way was he coming to terms any time soon with the insanity of what he’d just been told in a startling, calm way from a startling, calm son of a bitch. He’d expected perversion and general overall wrongness, but this guy was nuts. He was completely bonzo. Evil spirits. Poltergeists. Monsters. Those things were one hundred percent Hollywood and bad novels. This guy believed it all, though. The wacko probably thought the bogeyman was real. Worse, Rick thought he thought they should believe it all too.

And as long as the guy had a gun pointed at his little brother, there was not a damned thing Rick could do to improve their situation.

“You’re,” AJ said, dazed, “mister, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but you are … certifiable.”

That wasn’t something AJ would usually let slip, but all things considered it summed up everything rolling through Rick’s head just fine. He darted his gaze to the rearview mirror, more than a little concerned the observation would result in a bullet-sized hole in his brother’s head. That wouldn’t be a rational response, but this guy seemed far beyond rational. 

As if to prove that very point, the guy’s reaction wasn’t to shoot AJ but to let out something that was probably a laugh. Or it might have been a choked sob. It was difficult for Rick to tell. Either way, confidence was not instilled. Before he returned his attention to the road, he saw AJ’s expression become baffled above and beyond the shell-shocked, just-been-choked look he still wore. Rick wanted to see this nutball pay for what he had done to his own kids and for almost killing his little brother. A padded cell and a straitjacket would be a good start.

“Yeah, you might be right,” Wacko said, still chuckling. “The jury is still out on that one.”

Rick surmised that a crazy man with a loaded gun who knew he was crazy but didn’t seem to mind it all that much was just a hair better than a regular old crazy man with a loaded gun. At least he could tell himself the chances of an accidental gun misfire were slimmer with a self-aware crazy man. Unfortunately, it occurred to him the chances of a non-accidental gun misfire were greater. In the end, Rick wished no matter what that he were nowhere near a crazy man with a gun. The way his thoughts were spinning about in his head made him think perhaps he himself might be a little crazy.

“Poltergeist,” Rick said. “Really? Like that girl from the movie. _‘They’re he-ere’_. That kind of poltergeist.”

“I don’t expect you to get it right now,” the guy said, and he almost sounded sad. He almost sounded _sane_. “To be honest, I wish you wouldn’t have to get it once we’re there either. But you will, and I’m going to need your help. You fit for duty, Country Club?”

“Well, that would depend,” AJ said, reasonably.

“Fair enough,” Wacko said, also reasonably. “We’re just going to do a little redecorating. If it all goes right, no one should get a scratch.”

Jesus, Rick wished this guy had the courtesy to not be so damned cryptic. It was like being held at gunpoint by a giant, scruffy version of Yoda. Rick hated those damned _Star Wars_ movies. Wacko leaned over Rick’s right shoulder. 

“Step on it, Grandma. We don’t got all night.”

The slow pace hadn’t been intentional, but now that it had been pointed out Rick realized why he wasn’t exactly setting land speed records. The sooner they got to the Sanchezes’, the sooner this guy was going to go from contained crazy man to unleashing his master poltergeist-busting plot, and Rick couldn’t exactly be certain that didn’t involve harming rather than helping the Sanchez family, never mind offing him and AJ in the process. He did not buy the guy’s assertion that no one would get hurt; AJ already had been. Threats of worse had already been made.

Rick depressed the accelerator. The engine roared. He had to admit, for a psycho he had a nice set of wheels. He pictured the guy on some insane quest to vanquish evil, riding his big black car into the dark corners of the supernatural world. That idea might make an interesting book, if it wasn’t written by a hack.

“So you do this kind of thing often?” Rick asked. “Fight the things that go bump in the night?”

“Someone has to.” 

Of course someone did. It would be unconscionable to leave all those make-believe monsters free to do make-believe things.

“Of course someone does.”

Rick wasn’t sure why he’d asked the question, or why he was still seeking some kind of logic here. It was pretty clear there were no satisfactory answers forthcoming about anything. Crazy people didn’t follow the known laws of reason. This guy might not be a pervert (then again, he might still be that – no proof to the contrary), but Rick had no regrets about getting those two little boys away from Mr. Nutbar back there. In the short half hour he’d known the guy, he already felt his own mental stability wavering. A whole lifetime of that inflicted on impressionable children’s minds was as much abuse as hitting or touching inappropriately were. 

He turned onto West Kalmia, now only about two minutes from their destination. He was glad he wasn’t going to have to keep trying to squeeze information out of the guy, but as they got closer his muscles tensed more. Rick had to be ready for anything, any chance to take this guy down before he did permanent harm. Frankly, though, he wasn’t anticipating much; whatever funny farm he escaped from, their crazy man was scary competent. Rick wouldn’t be surprised if he had military experience, seen combat. He frowned. The guy was about the right age. He thought of another Vietnam vet doing ‘crazy’ things that he and AJ had dealt with only a couple years ago. Hell, on a good day Rick wasn’t sure the effects of Vietnam would ever not ride around on his left shoulder with him. And he knew AJ sometimes thought he was insane himself.

Rick didn’t much like the idea he and Mr. Nutbar might have anything remotely in common. 

“Damn,” the guy said, ducking his head to look out the windshield. “We’re not gonna have an easy time of this.”

Once again, Rick couldn’t decipher what that meant. Instinctively, though, he looked ahead to the Sanchez house. At first glance, it looked fine except that the lights were all on. But then they weren’t, and then they were again. The effect of the lights going off and on was almost strobe-like in intensity, and in those brief spasms of illumination Rick saw something that chilled him. The whole family stood at the big family room picture window, hands pounding against the glass and fumbling at the sills. Like they were trapped, their house a cage. Why weren’t they at the doors?

As he drew the car to the curb in front of the house, and in those momentary flashes of light, Rick saw Josh Sanchez had blood running down the side of his face. He wasn’t sure if he was grateful to see only tear tracks on Rosalie and Cristina’s faces. They appeared completely terrorized, as frantic as Rosalie’s voice had sounded on the phone. The flickering lights only added to the frenetic energy he could practically feel from his safe spot outside. He didn’t have the first clue what this crazy, maybe not so crazy after all, guy expected him and AJ to do. Rosalie suddenly went down, her chin banging against the window frame before she disappeared. Josh and Cristina lunged as if reaching for her. Holy fuck. They had to get the family out, whatever the hell was going on.

Without thinking, Rick lurched out of the car and headed up the sidewalk. He made it all of five steps.

“Hey,” the guy shouted. “Hold up, you jackass.”

Oh, he was the jackass now? Rick spun, and it was then he remembered the crazy man had a gun aimed at his brother. Not for long, though. He watched the guy tug AJ out of the back seat, stare at them for a millisecond and then tuck the gun into his waistband. Priorities. Get the Sanchezes out first, and then find a way to take down the crazy man. Right, sure. Okay. What?

“What in the hell?” AJ said softly as he walked a few steps toward Rick. “What’s happening?”

“I told you already,” their captor said. He yanked the keys from the ignition and darted to the rear of the car. “Poltergeist.”

Rick wanted to think this was some elaborate hoax. It had to be. Allen Funt was going to jump out of the bushes and shout “Smile, you’re on _Candid Camera._ ” at them any second now. Except he knew that seemed even less likely than a poltergeist at this point. He heard Cristina wailing, things shattering inside the house. He didn’t know how none of the neighbors had woken up. That might be for the best. His mind continued to whirl, trying to keep up with what was happening in real time.

“Take these,” the guy said, shoving something small and soft at Rick and AJ. 

“What are they?” AJ said, holding up the sachet in confusion.

“Doesn’t matter right now, Blondie. Listen up. I won’t have time to hold your hands in there.” 

Crazy man with a gun was now crazy man with an axe. And a gun. Rick had a random thought about Lizzie Borden, which he then thought shouldn’t have ever been his first thought in any situation. 

“First we get in there, bust the door down if we have to. You two hustle the family out as fast as you can. If you can.” 

So far, so good. That was the first logical thing the guy had said since Rick had known him.

“Then get your asses back in. These packets need to be placed inside the north, south, east and west walls of the house. Not near the walls. In them. I’m carryin’ enough for the whole deal, but I don’t think I’m going to get it done by myself. Consider yourselves enlisted.” The guy spoke quickly and surely, like this was another day at the office. “Works best if they’re put in the corners and on different levels of the house. Screw that this time, just get them all in on the main floor. This isn’t going to be easy, boys. Damned thing looks pissed off.”

AJ nodded as if he understood completely, but his face looked slack and stupid. He took the fierce-looking machete the guy handed him and gawped at it, then at the hammer handed to Rick.

“You’ll need something to break through the drywall,” the guy said. “I’ll go right for the north and west. You two think you can handle east and south if I don’t get to them?”

“Sure?” Rick said, because he did not have the first clue what else to say.

The next thing Rick knew, Mr. Not-So-Nutbar brushed them aside and made for the front door with the axe ready. The screaming and crying hadn’t let up at all. His palms felt clammy and cold. He glanced at AJ, who simply stared back at him with wide eyes. Rick still wasn’t sure what the hell was going on. There wasn’t time. The thud of metal against wood startled him. The door being kicked in had him moving. He didn’t think, couldn’t. 

Inside, the chaos he had imagined became very real. Lamps and framed photos were flying every which way. A stereo blared into life, crap music coming from somewhere upstairs. It took him a moment to accept this was actually happening. The chair launching itself at his head was proof enough. He ducked at the last second, splinters cut into his cheek from the chair all but disintegrating against the wall above his head. 

“Rick.” AJ _looked_ like he was shouting, but he sounded far away. “You okay?”

Rick gave a quick nod. Before he could do or think anything, his arms were suddenly full with Cristina Sanchez, who clawed at him like he was the enemy. Everything turned into a blur, down was up, up was down. He caught glimpses of AJ and blood and long black hair in his face and their would-be captor with his mouth gaping wide in a shout Rick couldn’t hear at all. He shoved the girl out the door, maybe shouted at her to get the hell away, bumped into AJ right behind him with a bruised and battered Rosalie, Josh immediately staggering along. Blood everywhere. Windows rattled. An inhuman yowl filled the house. More shit flew at them with precision aim, landing a few painful hits. He pulled AJ close a second before a statue – Hummel? – nearly took his head off. 

“I got east,” he said into AJ’s ear. He still didn’t even know what that meant. “Watch yourself.”

“I’m not sure…”

He saw their would-be kidnapper fly across the hallway, heard the sickening, recognizable thump of head against hard surface despite the ruckus. Jesus. The guy lay still, clearly stunned. Shit oh shit. Rick didn’t know if the guy had gotten anything done. He kept moving. The house … the poltergeist got angrier. He was in the air himself, then he wasn’t. God damn, his back was going to be one enormous bruise when he woke up. If he woke up. He faded to gray for a heartbeat, AJ crying out in pain revived him. 

“AJ,” he said.

As he rolled onto his stomach, Rick wondered if it was him or the room that was looping. He saw multiple versions of his brother disappearing through an open door, to the south. Musta hit his head too. He thought AJ’d looked like he was going on his own steam. Much as he wanted to follow AJ, he slithered east (he thought) toward the kitchen. He didn’t have the hammer anymore, dropped it. Now all he could hear was his own heaving gasps for air, his lungs burned. He scrambled to all fours, crawled like his life depended on it. It might.

The second Rick crossed the threshold of the kitchen, he knew he was in deep shit. Heavy appliances danced across the floor, knives flew at him. He did the only thing he could. He put faith in the little, smelly bag of whatever that he clutched in his left hand. He ignored searing pain in his right shoulder and dashed for the east wall, kicked his foot through the drywall. Probably broke his goddamned toe in the process. He tossed the sachet into the gaping hole.

Nothing happened. Rick blinked in bewilderment. He’d expected something big. The crazy guy made it seem like something big was supposed to happen now. He blinked again, then threw himself on the floor to avoid a butcher knife to the heart. He smacked his chin, nearly rattled the teeth right out of his head. A second after hitting the ground, a blinding light engulfed the kitchen and a shriek nearly deafened him. The absolute silence that followed threatened to do the same. 

After a minute, Rick started hearing small things. The drip of the kitchen faucet. The refrigerator kicking in, humming along cheerful and normal from its relocated position in the middle of the room. The house creaking as it settled. A moan from some distant corner. 

That last sound got him right side up anyway. Rick scuffled until he was sitting, and took a quick tally. Multiple bruises and muscle aches. A minor flesh wound on his right bicep – he was more upset at losing the shirt than the gash. It was a favorite, as far as nighttime stakeout shirts went. Once he was sure he wasn’t going to keel over if he stood, he stood and picked his way out of the kitchen. He hadn’t noticed how everything was on the floor, or the obstacle course he’d somehow crawled over, under and through. 

“AJ,” Rick shouted, taken aback to hear his voice sounded hoarse. “AJ, you all right?”

The groan he got in reply wasn’t the answer Rick wanted to hear. He jumped over the last chair in his way and trotted to the family room. He threw a glance at the formerly crazy man, who was kneeling but still looked out of it, before moving on. He halted at the threshold.

“Oh, man.”

If anything, this room looked worse than the kitchen. His attention went right to the south wall, where AJ should have been. All Rick could see were overturned easy chairs and a large, now horizontal, bookshelf. Broken lamps and books strewn all over the place. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the ghost hunter had joined him. 

“My brother better not be dead, mister,” he said. “Or so help me, I’ll…”

“I’m not dead, Rick,” AJ’s muffled voice said. “I wouldn’t mind a hand up, though.”

A hand popped up from under one of the easy chairs. Rick had never been so glad to see a hand in his whole life. He and the hunter got to the chair at the same time, each of them grabbing a corner and heaving. AJ lay on his back, and he gawked at them. Not a trace of blood on the guy. It figured that he would get attacked by knives and AJ, well, AJ got pummeled with pillow cushions and paperbacks. Rick wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“What … was that?” AJ asked both Rick and the other guy, but then he peered at the other guy. He sat up, tossed a tasseled throw pillow aside. “Please, don’t say poltergeist.”

“Okay, I won’t. But that’s what it was,” the guy said, as he leaned in with a hand extended.

AJ looked at it for a moment, but didn’t reach to take it. 

“Well, okay. So we apparently just fought a poltergeist together. Some might say that’s a bonding kind of experience,” AJ said, sounding neat and prim as ever. A tuft of his blond hair stuck straight up, and his shirt was bloody and ripped. “I believe you know who we are. I think it would only be polite if you told us your name now.”

&-&-&

Dean thought for sure Cecilia would give up after a minute or two, but she didn’t. She stayed in the room, and he could feel her watching him closely. She didn’t say anything else, though, just sat there. He’d never been around anyone he couldn’t fool before. It made him feel weird inside. He didn’t like it one bit. He moved just a little, not enough for her to see, and put his arm across Sammy even though it made his brother wiggle in his sleep almost right away. Rick and AJ were gone, but somehow that didn’t matter. He could have fooled them, at least. 

Cecilia started humming softly, a song he kind of recognized but didn’t know the name of. It sounded like something he heard every year at Christmastime. For some reason, his throat hurt and he could barely swallow. Sammy’s elbow hit him in the stomach, not hard, but Dean let out a small gasp. The humming stopped for a second, then started again even more quietly. Dean’s head started to feel fuzzy, and he was warm under the blankets. He didn’t want to sleep, he didn’t … 

Couldn’t …

Sammy pushed both hands against Dean’s chest, two little shoves, and then he scooted under Dean’s arm and down the sofa before Dean could stop him. Dean felt too sleepy to move, his brain still slow with … oh no. He opened his eyes and saw the room was bright, sunlight coming through windows. Oh no. Morning. He sat up. He smelled something sweet and bacon too, but all he could think about was how he had _fallen asleep_. 

“Sammy, come back,” Dean said, reaching for his brother’s feet. He caught one and tugged it. “Get back here.”

Sam giggled, probably thought they were playing a game. Dean wasn’t playing. He’d failed so much since last night, he could not and would not let Sam too far away for him to keep a hand on at all times. He didn’t know how, but if there was a chance to get away he was gonna have to grab Sam and just do it. Sammy turned around and tried to tackle Dean, smacking his forehead into Dean’s chin. It hurt a little, but it sure didn’t stop Sam from being all spaghetti-arms with him. He lost his balance, flopped onto his back. Sam was on him like that. 

“I win,” Sammy said, pressing his hands on Dean’s shoulders and one of his feet in a bad place. “I win, Dean!”

Dean flipped Sam off, mostly to get rid of the foot before it _really_ started hurting, careful to dump his brother on the side of the sofa instead of near the sharp edges of a small table. It only seemed to tell Sammy the wrestling match wasn’t over; he squeaked and got up and started making all kinds of silly noises and faces. Dean couldn’t help it. He started laughing, because Sammy always looked so funny when he got serious about tussling. Goofball. He put the palm of his hand across Sam’s forehead and half his eyes, pushed gently. Sam’s arms flapped. His belly poked all fat and round through his T-shirt pajamas.

“It’s tickle time,” Dean said, making his voice sound big like Dad’s. “You can’t stop the tickle monster!”

“No,” Sammy wailed, but he didn’t sound really scared or mad. “No, Dean, no ticka monsta.”

Dean poked and scrunched his fingers into Sam’s ribs and tummy and feet, until Sam was giggling so hard he stopped trying to wrestle him. It always worked. Tickling always made Sam forget he wanted to win something he never would, and it stopped a tantrum because it always started out fun but Sammy hated not being able to win something he never would. Playing kinda made Dean forget stuff for a while too, the bad stuff. 

But it always came back. Just as he was going in for a second round of tickles, Dean saw Cecilia standing at the doorway wearing a dress and a ruffly apron. She was smiling. Instead of tickling, he pulled Sammy up till he was sitting and put an arm around his shoulder. Sammy figured out the game was over right away; he got real quiet. Dean could see his brother looking up at him, waiting to see what he did. The only problem was Dean didn’t know what to do. He shouldn’t have let himself play with Sam like that. It was dumb of him. He’d done too many dumb things. That had to stop.

“Good morning, boys,” Cecilia said. “You ready for some breakfast? I made waffles.”

Dean decided he was going to tell her he wasn’t hungry and wasn’t going to eat one single bite, but then his stomach made a huge growly noise. Traitor. Well, he still wasn’t going to let her trick him with waffles. He knew _Hansel and Gretel_. She’d known he wasn’t sleeping and had beaten him at that, but she had seemed to believe he was sweet and nice. And Sammy _was_ sweet and nice, so if they stayed that way then maybe she would slip up. If he couldn’t get away from a little old lady, Dad would be so mad.

“We need our clothes first,” he said. “And Sammy needs to get changed.”

“Of course.” Cecilia smiled bigger. “I know you had a bag with you last night. Now, where do you suppose it is?”

“By door,” Sammy said, always ready to help. He pointed. “See?”

“Yes, there it is,” Cecilia said. She took a step toward it. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Welcome.”

“We didn’t get to meet last night. My name’s Cecilia. And you’re Sammy.”

“Ce…”

Cecilia laughed and moved closer to the door. “How about you call me Cece? Sometimes my friends call me that.”

Dean didn’t want Sam to call her anything because she wasn’t their friend, and he didn’t want her to go through their stuff again. He untangled his legs from the blanket and slid off the couch, then helped Sammy down. The teddy bear had ended up on the floor. He picked it up. 

“Ma’am,” he said, trying to sound normal, not mad and scared. “Can you show me where the bathroom is?”

Cecilia looked down at them, somehow looking sad even though she was still smiling. Dean didn’t want to see that look on her face, because he thought it meant she agreed with Rick and AJ, that he and Sammy needed someone other than Dad to take care of them. He had to remember that even though she seemed okay, she was still one of the people monsters.

“Of course,” Cecilia said. She took another step toward Dean and Sammy’s bag. “You boys want to get out of your pajamas before you eat. That’s very polite.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Please, Dean. Call me Cecilia.”

Dean really didn’t think so.

He tugged Sam along after him, going around Cecilia to get to the bag. He had to move slow even though he wanted to run, because Sammy was wobbly sometimes. A lot. One of his _Batman_ comic books was right on top, and he thought it was weird because he had been reading it last night at the motel when he was supposed to be sleeping instead. It shouldn’t have been in the bag at all. He shoved the bear inside. He pulled the straps, trying to close the bag so she couldn’t see in. He knew it didn’t make sense because she’d already been through it last night. All of his important things were in there, the only things he always had no matter where they went. It was stupid, but he didn’t want her to see that in the daytime, when she could really see. He also didn’t want her to see his underwear, which was even stupider. 

“It’s right this way.” Cecilia didn’t try for the bag again. She walked a few steps out of the living room, then waited for them to follow. “Well, come on, you don’t want your waffles to get cold.”

The waffles could turn to rocks for all Dean cared. That was what his brain thought, but his stomach growled again, so loud Cecilia had to have heard it. It didn’t matter. He’d still think of a reason to not eat them. Except then Sammy’s stomach growled, and there was no way Dean could ask his baby brother to not eat waffles when they were right there. Sammy was still quiet. Dean looked to make sure he was all right, and found Sam watching him with big eyes, like maybe he knew something was weird, but wasn’t sure what. Cecilia seemed so nice, after all, a baby like Sam couldn’t know the truth for himself any more than he’d figured wrong that AJ was safe enough to sleep around last night. 

“Here you are,” Cecilia said, opening the door to a room that seemed to glow pink because of all the sunshine coming through the window. “Do you need any help with your brother?”

“No, ma’am,” Dean said. “I’ve taken care of him since he was a really little.”

“I a big boy,” Sammy said. Lately he always had to try to put his own clothes on. “I do it.”

“Okay, Sammy, I know.”

For some reason, that sad look in Cecilia’s face got even sadder and Dean hated it so much it was hard to stay nice on the outside. He took Sammy’s hand and steered him into the bathroom, then shoved the duffel bag in the room after him. He shut the door as Cecilia seemed like she might be following them in. He leaned on it and hoped she would stay out. He heard footsteps going away. He relaxed a little bit. He locked the door anyway. He wanted five minutes alone, so he could think better.

The first thing he noticed about the room besides how pink it was were some pearly fish decorations on the wall across from the sink. They matched the pink paint, and there were pink bubbles coming out of their mouths. The whole room smelled like soap, girly pink soap. The curtains had as many ruffles as Cecilia’s apron. Dean eyed the toilet and realized how bad he had to go. He did what he had to do, staring up and out the window. Duh, the window. It wasn’t too high and he was sure if he stood on the toilet he could reach the lock. His heart started to beat fast. This was his chance to fix things. He put on his clothes, and then noticed his shoes weren’t there. He frowned. That wasn’t good, but it would have to be okay. He’d have to make it work.

Dean knew the really tough part was going to be getting Sam to do what he wanted without becoming all riled up. There wasn’t time for Sammy to get his arms tangled up in his T-shirt or freak out when he couldn’t find the hole for his head. He got Sam out of his diaper and into undies, no problem, with his little brother holding onto his shoulders for balance. 

“You stink sometimes, Sammy,” he said when the pee smell hit him. “You know that?”

Sam giggled. 

Dean rolled his eyes and pulled out from the bag the first Sammy-sized shirt he could find. It had Grover on it, Sammy’s favorite. Good, he wouldn’t get any whining about that. He scrunched it up so there was less cloth for his brother to get messed up in. 

“I do it.”

“We don’t have time today.” Dean smiled. “We don’t have time because we’re going to play another game.”

“Game?” Sam said, almost a whisper.

“Yep. We’re going to play hide and seek with that lady, so we have to be quiet and quick or she’s going to find us right away,” Dean said. He lifted a finger to his lips. “Shhh.”

“Shh.” Sam copied Dean, but ended up with his finger mostly in his nose. “We win.”

Dean sure hoped so. Sammy didn’t fight about putting his own pants on, or about anything. The kid loved playing games, even though most of the time they weren’t games at all. Dean didn’t want Sam to know that for a long time. A long, long time. He wished it could be forever. He knew it couldn’t be, but today wasn’t going to be the day. He shushed Sam again, shut the toilet seat (it had a pink cover) and climbed on it. The lock stuck a little, but Dean got it and then the window open. He poked his head out and stared down. He didn’t like it. It was an easy drop for him, but not for Sammy. He’d feel better if there were a bunch of pillows down there. Oh, the bag. 

“Okay, Sammy,” Dean said. He lowered the duffel bag so it was below the window. “We’re out of here.”

“Hide,” Sam said, clapping his hands.

“Yep. Now, when l set you down there I need you to get away from the window so I don’t land on you, okay? Then we’ll find a real good hiding spot.”

Sam nodded.

Dean was not convinced Sammy had any clue. Sammy was smart, but after all he was just a baby. So it was going to have to be up to him to make sure he didn’t accidentally kick his brother in the head or something. It wasn’t easy lifting Sammy up while balancing on the toilet seat. Dean took his time. He wanted to get away real bad, but not if it meant hurting Sam. He stood there for a while, Sam heavy in his arms, not sure anymore how smart this was. He remembered climbing into that stupid ice bin last night instead of going where he was supposed to right away. The window was high enough it might be scary for Sammy.

But it was too late. The bag was out there already. Dean was not going to make another mistake.

“Here goes,” he said. 

And it wasn’t that bad. Once Dean got Sammy up on the sill, he stretched as far as he could, held his brother by the arms and then let go. He closed his eyes for a second. No scream of pain or anything happened, so he opened his eyes again and peered down. 

Sam stood on the ground, arms out with his fingers waggling like he was going to catch Dean. 

Dean smiled. If babies could be dorks, then sometimes Sammy was one. He hoisted himself up and jumped out the window. When his feet hit the ground, it was the first time in what felt like a very long time that he’d done something right. They were out, now they needed to get to the safe place. 

“Hide now,” Sam said.

“Yeah, we’re going to hide now.”

He took hold of Sam’s hand with one of his own, and picked up their bag with the other. Cecilia had a lot of bushes around her house, so that was lucky. He wasn’t sure if they’d walk by the kitchen, where she was probably waiting for them. They could duck behind the bushes, if so. Dean’s stomach growled again. He ignored it. He’d find a store or something. No one noticed kids. He could steal breakfast just this one time.

The further they got from the bathroom window, the better Dean felt. He was sure all they had to do was get to the sidewalk, away from the house, and they would be fine. He thought he could remember which way to go. He paid attention last night. He tugged Sammy along, rounding the corner of the front of the house. 

“Going somewhere?” Cecilia said. She was standing right there, with her arms crossed. “It’s been a great number of years since Rick and AJ were your ages, but I do remember all the tricks.”

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Dean said.

Cecilia was mean and horrible and a tiny little part of him actually kinda thought she was also awesome, but he would never say that out loud. Ever. 

“That language. I should wash your mouth out with soap.” Cecilia uncrossed her arms. She reached for Sammy. “Come here, honey.”

Dean couldn’t kick or punch a woman. He wanted to. Instead, he watched Sammy go right to her. He was glad when his brother didn’t look all that happy, at least, not the way he’d been last night when he’d gone to AJ. Mostly, Sammy looked mad that he and Dean hadn’t won the game. And he also looked as hungry as Dean felt.

“How about I feed you waffles with maple syrup instead?”

“Lucky Carms,” said Sam. 

&-&-&

“I believe you know who we are,” AJ said. He felt like he would never catch his breath. “I think it would only be polite if you told us your name now.”

The loud, raucous music and otherworldly screams had vanished, but the silence that remained was almost as dizzying. AJ wasn’t sure if the room was still moving a little, or if that was his brain simply trying to catch up. He couldn’t even be certain he was really there. Maybe he had died back in the office and this was … hell. Twisted heaven. Purgatory? Or maybe he’d just passed out and he was having a bizarre near-death dream. The latter would, oddly, be easier to buy than what he thought was reality. Poltergeists were real. He wondered what else was.

“My name’s not important,” the guy said

In answering AJ’s question, the crazy guy who’d tried to kill him shattered the hope this was all in his head. And AJ begged to differ with his reply. A lot. 

“I can’t keep mentally referring to you as the lunatic with a gun,” AJ said. “I’m sorry, that’s simply too exhausting. I can’t handle it anymore. Not after you nearly killed me and not after I almost got beheaded by a hardcover of _Don Quixote_ , and certainly not since both of those things occurred in the span of an hour. So, please. A name.”

Something like humor glinted in the lunatic’s eyes, but it only lasted a second. In its place was that cold, hard look AJ had recognized even in his foggy state on the car ride over. It was the look of a man pushed to extremes. AJ thought maybe he’d look that way himself if he weren’t so damned befuddled.

“You can call me John.”

AJ noted that he didn’t say his name actually was John, and a last name didn’t seem like it was forthcoming. He thought it a little suspect and generic, but John was better than lunatic with a gun. He studied John’s outstretched hand, and instead of taking it scrambled to his feet on his own. Rick was right there, one hand on his elbow and the other at the small of his back. The truth of the matter was he wasn’t sure which side was up and which was down quite yet, and the help was appreciated. 

“AJ,” Rick said. “You steady?”

“Mostly.”

He blearily gave his brother a once-over. He frowned at the blood on Rick’s sleeve, the small nicks on his face. He frowned deeper when Rick waved his hands dismissively. AJ stood straighter, his hands going to his shirt, straightening it and re-tucking. He gave it up after a second when his left shoulder pulled. He glanced down and found his shirt torn. And bloody. Huh. He had no memory of sustaining that injury. Now that he knew it was there, it hurt a lot.

“So, John, that was a poltergeist,” Rick said, as if that wasn’t one of the craziest things to ever come out of his mouth. “It’s gone?”

“It’s gone,” John said. He sounded as gruff as ever, and weary. He pinched the bridge of his nose like he had the world’s biggest headache. Probably did. “We banished it.”

They had no reason to believe him. Then again they probably wouldn’t be standing there, bloody and bruised but alive, if he was lying about that. AJ was suddenly reminded that John was untrustworthy because he had brought them there at gunpoint, and had almost killed him with his bare hands. He saw no gun now – it must have become lost – and if he and Rick got it together quick they could overpower their mysterious stranger. He eyed Rick, but Rick wasn’t looking his direction. His brother had his head tilted, as if listening for something in the silence. It was then AJ heard sirens growing closer.

“Now we get gone,” John said, the weariness in his tone replaced with resolve. “The family called the cops or something.”

More likely, they’d called for medical assistance. Looking at the three of them, it wasn’t a bad idea. Rick’s arm still bled and probably needed stitching up, John had hit that wall really hard, and AJ was sure he was going to be mostly, eventually fine but wanted medication at this point. Okay, and a bandage. Maybe stitches. He raised a hand, pointer finger in the air, to mention the idea and set himself right up for it. In the blink of an eye, his arm was twisted behind his back and he felt the familiar, circular business end of a handgun jammed into his side. It was only minutely less painful than the re-aggravation of his shoulder wound all the jostling around caused. He guessed he was wrong about the gun being lost. 

Damn it. If John didn’t kill him, Rick would. Rick appeared apoplectic. AJ was so damned sorry he kept screwing up.

“Hey,” Rick said angrily. “What’s the idea?”

“We ain’t friends. I appreciate your help here. I do. But you know where my boys are, and I _want them back._ We’re leavin’ before I have to answer questions from anyone, but especially the cops.”

The boys. Oh, shit, in the chaos AJ had forgotten about them, had forgotten they were at Mom’s right now. They couldn’t take this guy to Mom’s house. No way. He might be relieved that John was not a mentally unstable person, but there was no way to know what kind of torment he put his boys through anyway. No, wait. No mentally _stable_ person he knew would ever let their kids anywhere near this sort of thing. Abandonment, neglect, not to mention he and Rick didn’t know for sure John wasn’t a pervert, all while hunting things that should be imaginary … John did not exactly get gold stars for parenthood.

“Oh, no,” AJ said. “You’re not serious. You think we’re going to –”

“I think that’s exactly what you’re going to do. And you’d better tell me, _tell me_ you did not turn them over to social services.”

AJ had also forgotten he had a gun trained on him again. That fact was brought to the forefront as he was pushed toward the door over piles of what was left of the Sanchez family’s home. Right, no choice. He took comfort in knowing Rick was right there, and instantly felt like a fool. He knew Rick wouldn’t do anything if AJ remained compromised. Besides, he wasn’t a five-year-old who needed his big brother to protect him from bullies anymore, not that his track record tonight was anything to go by. He’d been the weak link all night. Taken down by a man with a moderate concussion, for crying out loud.

“You’re going to haul us out of here under duress with witnesses standing right there?” Rick asked. He pointed out the broken front door. “I don’t know you from Adam, John, but I’d say you’re a smart guy, and doing that would not be very smart.”

“Goddamnit,” John said. 

AJ sensed Rick looking at him more than saw it. He looked away from the obstructed view of the Sanchezes huddled on the lawn and returned the gaze. He tried to understand what his brother wanted to tell him. Maybe it was the pain in his shoulder or maybe it was his reeling head, but whatever it was he couldn’t figure it out. Whether or not he had a clue, he _did_ know he trusted Rick. He’d go with it. 

Of course he would; he had a gun jammed into his right kidney. AJ would go with just about anything right now if it meant getting the gun off him. 

“We’ll go with you, okay? No threats necessary.” Rick’s look to AJ changed subtly into a warning. He turned his attention to John and raised his hands. “You’ve proven you’re not completely wacko, and that we might have possibly had some things wrong. We get it. You don’t want trouble. Neither do we.”

Behind him, John tensed. Every muscle was taut. AJ thought maybe he felt faint tremors too, which made sense because even though John was apparently used to this kind of thing, he’d still had a rough go of it. The tension lasted only a short time. There wasn’t the luxury for any of them to make considered decisions. John released him. AJ immediately scooted to Rick’s side, not even a little embarrassed by that. Not at the moment, anyway. Maybe in the bright light of day he would have the time.

“No funny shit.” John wavered on his feet.

“We’ll be perfect angels,” AJ said. He was believable. After all, the only thing he’d done all night was unwittingly help the guy.

Something strange passed over John’s features, too quickly to name. AJ did notice John was pale, and he doubted the wetness on his shirt collar was sweat. He still had no idea what Rick was thinking, but if there was a remote chance it included giving little Dean and Sam over to their father, then AJ had to object. 

“Let’s go then,” John said.

So they went, all three of them under their own power. For the most part. AJ wasn’t going to be forgetting the gun John had. Josh Sanchez was on them before they hit the sidewalk, Rosalie and Cristina right behind as if they were attached with invisible string. Wouldn’t be the strangest thing he’d seen all night.

“What’s going on?” Josh asked.

“We have to go now, Mr. Sanchez,” Rick said. “AJ and I will explain everything to you tomorrow. Sorry about the house. If the cops ask, none of us were here. Got it?”

“What?”

AJ could see red and blue lights now. He didn’t actually want to leave with John, and yet a surge of adrenaline shot through him, a fear response that told him to run. The Sanchezes were not going to get this, not tonight and probably not when he and Rick had a chance to explain later. Like he and Rick understood enough to explain it themselves. They were going to come across as off-balance at the kindest. He frowned. He guessed John probably lived his daily life like that. 

“You’re safe now,” AJ said. Once the family saw the shambles of their home, he and Rick would be lucky not to have charges of some sort brought on them. Better to accentuate the positive upfront. “That’s what’s important.”

“The evil thing is gone. That’s what the light was,” Cristina said. “So it was never this pervert?”

Okay, maybe they would understand it all just fine. Better than he did. 

“No, it wasn’t me and yes, the evil thing is gone. You’re welcome,” John said. He didn’t deny the pervert allegation. “We’ve had a long enough Hallmark moment. We’re leavin’.”

For lack of anything else to do, and in no small part because he did not want to be at the business end of a handgun one more time tonight, AJ trailed after Rick and John as they walked to the car. His mind raced as he tried to come up with some way to avoid taking this guy to Mom’s house; he wasn’t the type AJ ever wanted to give his home address to. Or, more specifically, Mom’s. 

They resumed their positions from earlier, AJ none-too-gently encouraged to slide into the backseat of a black behemoth of a car he hadn’t really been terribly aware of before. Jeez, even the guy’s _vehicle_ was intimidating. He was almost glad he’d been too out of it. The car looked like it might have its own personality, and it was just as grim and steadfast as John’s. Rick didn’t seem to mind getting behind the wheel; he even let out a little laugh as he started the engine and roared away from the curb. AJ spun around and looked out the rear window in time to see several patrol cars descend on the Sanchez house. The cops had missed them by a hair. He was filled with almost as much relief as distress about that, and he didn’t know why. 

“Tell me, John,” Rick said, modulating his tone into something remarkably non-confrontational. “How often do you really do this kind of thing?”

“As often as I have to,” John said, and paused for a second, “and more often than I want.”

AJ heard vulnerability in the response, and was the first time John _truly_ sounded anything but angry. He had a billion questions and wanted to latch onto the opening that gave him, find out what drove John. Something told him, though, that would be a bad idea. It was probably the gun, not jammed into his ribs anymore but still very much a passenger in the back seat with him and John. He thought about Dean, shoving a shotgun in their faces and started to see things he didn’t like any better than the prospect of kidnapping and molestation. What had happened tonight terrified the shit out of him. What was prolonged exposure doing to John, and through him, Sam and Dean? 

“You bring your kids along. Why on earth would you do that?” AJ said breathlessly, the magnitude of it just now hitting him. 

He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He regretted it immediately and braced for a reaction. A backhand, a bullet through the gut, something. It didn’t come, though AJ swore he felt the car slow down for a second, probably Rick expecting the same reaction as him and preparing for action of his own. When AJ peered up at John, he saw the anger there, but the vulnerability hadn’t disappeared. That might be the concussion; he noticed John’s eyes had a slightly far-away expression. He counted himself lucky. Again. Maybe. The dazed look didn’t last long, and AJ thought even with a concussion this guy could take him. 

John turned to him, eyes blazing. “Do you think I want to do this? You don’t have any idea what my life is like. You don’t get to judge.”

That wasn’t strictly true. There was something so visceral and horrible about the thought of John carting around two small children, existing in the shadows where death was likely always a big threat it was difficult _not_ to judge. People by nature judged on less, sometimes something as quick as a glance. Given what little he actually knew, AJ couldn’t imagine what it had taken for John to get to this point, and, yes, he supposed that he was judging.

“Okay, not judging. So tell us,” Rick said. “Explain to us why, besides the fact you got a gun on my brother _again_ …” 

AJ cringed. Oh, yeah, Rick was angry with him as much as with John and the whole messed-up situation.

“Why should we take you to them? Why should we assume it’s better for your boys to be with you than somewhere safe? ‘Cause I have to say it just doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Everything I do, every decision I make, I do it for those two boys,” John said angrily. “He … they aren’t safe anywhere but with me.”

AJ held his breath. Any vulnerability he had seen or thought he’d seen vanished from John’s voice and countenance. He didn’t know why he was having such a time remembering they had basically been kidnapped, bonding experience over banishing a poltergeist aside. He and Rick had seen nothing to indicate John wouldn’t kill them in a heartbeat if they pushed him too far, or didn’t do what he asked. Ergo, this probably wasn’t the best time to play a game of chicken. He thought all three of them knew when it came down to it, Rick would have to swerve out of the way at the last second and John would win. Because if that wasn’t how it went down, then AJ was probably as good as dead and so was Rick. 

&-&-&

John felt the tether he had on control fraying. His head was killing him, his stomach’s contents were barely staying in place, he was exhausted, he needed a drink, these two yahoos were asking too many damned questions and above and beyond all that he could not stop thinking about Dean and Sam and getting them the hell away from San Diego. That was the only thing that mattered in the end. His boys had been without protection hours now. _Hours_. He was about to tell Rick to shove it up his ass – he did not owe them or anyone an explanation – when he noticed where they were and that Rick was parking the car. 

“I said you were taking me to my boys,” John said. “What the hell are we doing back here?”

“Triage,” Rick drawled. He turned off the car and pulled the keys out of the ignition. The seat squeaked a little as he shifted to look back at John and AJ. “If we decide to take you to your boys – yes, I meant _if_ – do you think they should see you in your condition? AJ and I have first aid supplies in our office, and a change of clothes.”

He wanted to argue that. He wanted to lash out. All it would take was a squeeze of his trigger finger and AJ would spend the rest of his life with a limp and a surgically constructed knee. The one thing John couldn’t do was clue them in to the fact he was not as inclined to kill them as he wanted them to believe. And he knew they did believe it, despite them not fucking doing what he asked even at gunpoint. He was a lot of things, most of them not admirable, but he was no murderer. Yet. He just wanted his boys safe, and the longer these two stonewalled him the more his moral compass swung toward homicidal. At the very least, he should disable them and then search out every single contact he had uncovered in their office earlier.

But Rick wasn’t wrong. John knew it was bad enough for him to expose the boys to such a nomadic life, to have them so near danger (but so safe from it at the same time); the one thing he didn’t want them to see yet was him hurt. Especially Dean. Sammy was probably too young to remember much of what was going on around him yet, but Dean … sometimes John caught glimpses of _that night_ in his son’s eyes. The ghost of Mary’s death haunted Dean. No, he couldn’t be weak or hurt in front of his oldest boy. Not yet. There’d come a time when it would be inevitable. That time was not now. Dean needed him to be strong, not give any appearance that he might disappear on him too.

“All right, fine,” John said. He pulled himself together. “We’ll do a little patching up first, but we’re workin’ fast and I don’t want any more stalling.”

He caught AJ trying to pull an innocent expression and nipped it in the bud with a jab of the handgun. John hadn’t always been wary. It didn’t used to come natural to him. In the past year and a half, though, he had learned to never underestimate anyone and never let his guard down. AJ might have been tonight’s fall guy so far, but he’d done his research on the idiots who’d first screwed with his hunt and then made off with his boys. There was more to AJ than a pretty face. Both Simons were good at their jobs, had reputations easy to learn about.

“Scout’s honor, no stalling,” AJ said, with all the false sincerity of a lawyer. “But I think what we all could use is a visit to the emergency room.”

“No doctors. I want …”

“Your boys. Yes, we know. You’ve told us that about forty times now,” Rick said. His tone conveyed that he still thought John might be crazy or worse. “Look, the sun’s not even all the way up. You said you’ve got no reason to trust us, and I suppose that’s true. But they’re safe where they are. Let them sleep for a little bit.”

Rick could have no idea that Dean and Sam _weren’t_ safe, out in the open without the salt lines and wards John always had in place no matter what crappy motel they were in, no matter what city. But it was the Simons’s goddamn reasonableness that was throwing him off. John had assaulted, kidnapped, dragged them into a full-on poltergeist attack and kidnapped them again, and yet they were being irrationally calm about it all. He didn’t hold any illusions that it meant they were on his side, or Dean and Sam’s side. All the same, it left him more confused than it should have, because he found himself actually kind of admiring these assholes for holding it together so well. 

“You guys are a serious pain in my ass,” John growled. 

“We aim to please.” Rick opened the car door, kicked at it with his boot heel until it jarred slightly on the hinges. “You’re the one with the gun. You’re not exactly a walk in the park yourself.”

John knew what they were doing. They were using delay tactics in order to watch for an opening. He’d do the same in their situation. The thing they didn’t seem to get yet was that this wasn’t a game John was going to lose. He couldn’t lose the only thing he had left that mattered, not ever and not because a couple of private detectives thought they were doing the right thing. Refueled by anger and the need to see his sons whole and okay, he grabbed AJ by the left arm and yanked. He wasn’t going to tolerate any more bullshit excuses, and if the pained yelp Country Club let out was a good indication he had gained enough control back with that one move.

“Ah,” AJ hissed. 

“I got a med kit in the trunk, by the spare tire,” John said, ignoring the discomfort his iron grip was having on AJ. He nodded at Rick and in one slightly uneven motion had his handgun at AJ’s spine. “You get it out, and the duffel. Your brother and I will wait by the door.”

“Watch it with him.” 

It seemed to John that Rick was ready to tear him apart with his bare hands. Good. That type of reaction he could deal with better than the smooth, rolling-with-the-punches shtick they were both employing. If nothing else, it made him feel more in control and he needed that. 

Rick was quick about it. He scowled as he pulled out the duffel and first aid supplies, scowled more deeply as he joined John and AJ and kept on scowling all the way to the office. He actually bared his teeth when John gestured for him to start with his scalp laceration instead of his brother’s scratch. He kept the gun on AJ, but managed to pull a flask from his duffel bag, along with a reasonably clean shirt.

“You’ve got a regular hospital in your trunk,” Rick said. He muttered something that included the words weapons stockpile, but didn’t enunciate further. He poked at the back of John’s head. “You might need stitches.”

John grunted. He didn’t need stitches. Even if he did, he didn’t give a damn about his aching head. He also didn’t give a damn about explaining his weapons of choice. He clumsily twisted off the cap of the flask.

“The job isn’t without its dangers,” John said stiffly. These weren’t his buddies. He didn’t want the small talk to start again. He took a drink. Just one. “Tonight was easy.” 

“Easy?” AJ said, his voice nearly squeaking. “Boy, I’d hate to see what difficult is like.”

John monitored silently while AJ stripped off his shirt and Rick did a quick inspection and clean of his shoulder. Then they reversed roles, and Rick rummaged through one of the desks and pulled out a change of shirts. AJ had been right before, he noted. He might not need stitches himself, but these two should find professional medical help; both of their gashes were deep enough that some antiseptic and a couple of gauze pads probably wouldn’t cut it. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to stitch the child-stealing bastards himself.

“When you get me my boys back, I’d advise you to go to a doctor,” John said, purposely sounding like their pain amused him. 

“And you were going to explain to us why we should let you have your little boys,” Rick said, like he was maybe purposely sounding amused himself. Or not terrified, anyway. “It seems to me this kind of life just ain’t right for a couple of kids to be growing up in.”

Just like that, John was back to that night. The blood dripping on his hand, the fire, the awful heat he almost let consume him after he knew Dean had raced Sammy out of the house to relative safety. The heat he couldn’t let consume him _because_ Dean had raced Sammy out and they needed him. But it was then John had suddenly known, looking at his wife pinned to the ceiling – the goddamn ceiling – what true evil was capable of. It wasn’t a tight-fisted boss or the tyrannical English teacher he’d had as a kid, and it had been in the baby’s room. The baby wasn’t safe. Dean wasn’t safe. None of them were safe.

“You’re right,” John heard himself saying. It was like it wasn’t really him. “But I have no other choice. I can’t leave them with strangers.”

“Why don’t you stop doing what you do?” AJ asked as he one-handedly caught a fresh polo shirt his brother tossed him and struggled to put it on. “Why keep doing something so dangerous if you don’t have to?”

John hesitated. He wasn’t the soul baring type. His life was none of their business. But these guys were like terriers going after rats. He had started to believe they would rather take a bullet than turn Dean and Sam over to him, a dose of reality he didn’t like thinking about. He wasn’t the perfect father. By many rights, he was a piss poor one. The one thing he had plenty of was love. Everything he did was because he loved his boys so much, and he _did_ have to do it. For vengeance, yes, but also because if he didn’t, he was afraid … he was afraid. All the time. 

That wasn’t something he was going to confess to two strangers, but he had to tell them something.

“I don’t owe you my life story. Hell, I don’t owe you any explanation at all,” John said. “I will tell you this much: about a year and a half ago, something evil killed my wife, something far worse than that poltergeist tonight.”

Rick and AJ exchanged glances, both of them nodded like they’d already suspected as much. John wondered if Dean had said something, but the thought vanished immediately. Dean wouldn’t. Dean never talked about his mother. Dean was only just now starting to come out of his silence, a trauma-induced silence John had feared was permanent.

“I’m sorry. That sounds awful, but it doesn’t tell us why you can’t let it go for your kids,” Rick said.

“Dean didn’t talk for the better part of a year, you know. That’s how horrible it was.” John didn’t know why he was still talking, or why his voice sounded far away. It was like some damned floodgate was let open and he couldn’t stop. “My wife is dead, and that thing is still out there. Whatever it is that killed her, it could come back.”

“Whu … why do you think it might?” AJ whispered.

“Because.” John paused. He didn’t want to say it. He never had, not out loud and not to anyone. Saying it might make it true. It also might make them understand. “My wife died in Sammy’s nursery. He’s never gonna know his mother, but he’s gonna know that his whole life. And I think it … I think he’s …”

When it came down to it, John couldn’t. It was too much.

“Oh God,” Rick said, horrified. 

“You see?” John ran a hand through his hair. “Even when I leave them alone, they are _never_ unprotected. I know things most people don’t. I keep them safe. They can’t be away from me.”

The room was silent for a long moment. John realized he’d stopped holding the gun on AJ. It didn’t seem like the Simons had noticed, or like they harbored any plans to overpower him. He straightened and re-aimed anyway. His little lapse didn’t mean they were friends now. If what he’d revealed was enough to get them to understand, then maybe he was closer to getting his boys back.

“Okay,” Rick said. 

For the first time all night, Rick’s expression didn’t promise John pain. It was worse; it was pity.

“Yes, I think we get the picture,” AJ said.

But they couldn’t. Even with what John had just told them, he could see in their eyes that they didn’t fully get it. He didn’t need them to. He didn’t even want them to. He just wanted his boys. He had no real idea if something was after Sammy, but he had learned enough to know that things seemed drawn to them as much as John was drawn to the hunt. Jim Murphy had once told him that children in general were susceptible to the supernatural in ways adults weren’t, and it was his own gut telling him that Sam was like the flame a moth threw itself at. He had no proof and no foundation for that feeling. He knew it was right.

“I’m not sure you do,” John said. “But I don’t just want them, I need my boys. Until I figure things out, the only place either one of ‘em is safe is with me. Please. _Please_.”

Rick and AJ looked at each other again, as if having some sort of wordless conversation. Hell, they could be telepathic on their own time. Of course, if they were telepathic, then John would be fully justified in killing them. But the rage was mostly gone, depleted by having to unveil so much of his inner workings. The longer they sat around, though, the more John itched. The sun was coming up. There were no excuses left. They’d either cooperate, or he’d have to take steps he’d rather not. 

“We can’t take you to Dean and Sam,” AJ said, raising his uninjured arm to allay protest. “John, it’s nothing personal, but if all of this is even a tiny bit true, we can’t risk exposing … well, frankly, I’m not sure we can even handle knowing what’s out there. We need to limit our contact, for our own sanity.”

Jesus, Country Club talked too much. John looked at Rick, who gave a long-suffering sigh. 

“What my brother is trying to say is, if you’ll trust us enough we can bring the boys here. They’re not in social services yet. Against better judgment, we didn’t make it that far. They’re just not somewhere you ever need to know about, especially because of what we know now.” 

John’s shoulders slumped with relief. He eyed both Simons carefully, searching for any hint of duplicity. He didn’t see any, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. His head still throbbed. 

“One of you. One of you can bring the boys here. The other stays with me, as insurance,” he said. John scrubbed a hand down his face. Which one? His ears still rang from Country Club’s little speech. “Rick, you stay. AJ, you have thirty minutes or I’m going to have to do something none of us want.”

“I’m not sure I can make it in thirty minutes.”

“Too bad. Time starts now.” John glanced at his wristwatch. “Go.”

AJ had the good grace to widen his eyes and gulp, before he nodded and grabbed a set of keys from Rick’s desk. 

So John and Rick sat and waited, not speaking. Rick had materialized a cowboy hat from somewhere and perched it low on his forehead, his feet on his desk. By all appearances ready to take a nap, except for the furtive glances at the disarmed guns left there hours ago. John watched him, and Rick watched him watch. There wasn’t much left either of them could say as far as John was concerned. He wanted out of their lives probably as much as they wanted him out, which was pretty much how all of his interactions with civilians went. Time seemed to be going slow. 

“You’re doing the right thing,” he said at last, because all the empty air was making him uncomfortable.

“Like we had any other choice, really,” Rick returned, understanding and bitter at the same time. “You know I could probably take you right now.”

No, Rick couldn’t, not with the beating he’d taken at the Sanchez house. Not even on a normal day. John knew that. He didn’t announce it.

“But you’re not going to.”

“But I’m not going to. The bottom line is, I’d rather we’d never met, John. I’m not convinced what we’re doing is right; I’m just not convinced any other choice is better.”

“Welcome to my…”

The phone rang. Déjà vu all over again. Rick jerked his feet off the desk, sat up and reached for the receiver. 

John gave him a specific nonverbal clue that it was not advisable. He didn’t know who might be calling, but he did know the Simons had friends in the police department and last night’s activities at the Sanchez house might prompt some inquiries even if the family hadn’t said anything. That was their headache, and they could handle it when he and the boys were long gone. The machine kicked in, AJ’s voice filled the office. 

“ _Rick, it’s me_ ,” AJ’s voice continued when his recording ended. “ _Rick, pick up._ ”

John waggled a finger, and picked up before Rick could. He held the receiver to his ear.

“Yeah,” he said.

“ _They’re gone. All of them. Mom’s not here, and neither are the boys. The car’s in the garage, so Mom didn’t take them anywhere. They’re just gone.”_ AJ sounded panicked. “ _“What are we going to do?_ ”

John’s stomach sank. It was too late. He’d spent too long fucking around and now his boys were gone.

&-&-&

Rick knew something was wrong the second AJ asked for him. He also knew whatever it was, was bad enough for AJ not to think about what he was doing. AJ should have known John wouldn’t let Rick near the phone. Though, the last time their office phone had rung, AJ had been getting the life squeezed out of him; he probably didn’t remember John’s tendency to call “hands off” on the phone. Still, logic dictated that the guy who’d kidnapped them, forced them into a poltergeist fight and generally manhandled them all night might clue AJ in that he should watch himself.

“What do you mean they’re gone?” John said. 

The anger in John’s voice only confirmed AJ hadn’t censored himself. So did the glare, the clenched jaw and the handgun now aimed square at Rick’s abdomen. Two minutes ago, Rick had entertained serious thoughts of overpowering John; he knew with AJ out of the mix he was much better equipped to take out the guy. Now, he’d lost his chance. And Rick didn’t like the implication in John’s angry question. He had something at stake here now, which would have been bad enough before he knew things that went bump in the night actually _did_ go bump in the night.

“Don’t move, and don’t touch a thing. I mean it.” John slammed the phone so hard it gave a disgruntled jangle. His eyes were dark with fury.

“What’s going on?” Rick asked.

“They’re gone. My boys are gone and you …” John clenched his jaw, then took several deep breaths. Anger still bled off the guy, but he was gathering himself quickly. There was franticness about him, though. “Never mind, I need to get there.”

Before Rick could say or do anything, John stalked out of the office. Without him. Without pressing the muzzle of a gun against Rick’s spinal column. That should have been a welcome relief from John’s customary MO, but it worried at Rick’s gut. The door, flung hard, bounced on the hinges and slammed shut with a rattle. For a moment, Rick stood motionless, not certain if he really wanted to follow. The terrifying thought that John knew where he was going, already knew the location of Mom’s house, got him going. But Mom wasn’t there. Oh shit, Mom.

Besides the obvious need to _find his mother_ , even though John hadn’t blown a hole in him he might not afford that luxury to AJ, who’d been the whipping boy all damned night. He already knew what John was willing to do – he’d seen murder in the other man’s eyes multiple times – and that was something Rick could not let happen. John’s control was tenuous, and it had been slipping even more since the confusing fiasco at the Sanchez house.

If there’d been any doubt in Rick’s mind that John loved his sons beyond reason, it would have been erased just now. The guy who ran from the office in a near-blind panic was not the same guy who’d laid in wait for him and AJ hours before. Desperate people did desperate things. He knew that lesson before tonight, but somehow it seemed more real when personified by this man whose last name he didn’t even know. Based on the limited information he had swirling in his head, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have made the exact same choices John had.

What the hell was he doing, standing there ruminating?

“Hey,” Rick called as he lunged for the door. 

He knew John was probably already on the elevator, beyond earshot. When he made it out into the hall, it was empty. Rick took the stairs down two at a time in bounding, barely controlled leaps. The last thing he wanted was to be left behind while John raced to his mother’s house, whether or not his mother was there. Oh shit, maybe something had happened to Mom _and_ the boys. Or maybe Mom was hurt or dead and the boys were gone. He nearly lost his footing.

Rick got to the ground floor just in time to see the front door swinging shut. It was only when he exited the building himself and saw John standing at the driver’s side of the Impala that he remembered he had the keys. It was also when it seemed John was recovering that hardened son-of-a-bitch persona, judging from the way the gun was pointed at Rick again, with an unwavering hand. No wonder the guy was wired so tight, though Rick suspected he himself understanding John even a little would do nothing to stop a bullet from slicing through his liver.

“Give me the keys.”

“No,” Rick said. “I’m drivin’.”

“This has gone beyond just needing my boys back,” John said. “What if … I think something’s got ‘em.”

“I know.” 

But Rick didn’t know. Not more than the tip of a very large iceberg and he was beginning to believe he didn’t want to know more than that. What he wanted was for the tip of that iceberg to melt away, disappear before his very eyes. Unfortunately, he had a feeling what he wanted was not what he was going to get. Jesus, Mom. He and AJ should have never involved her in this. It was no excuse that they didn’t know what this was at the time.

“Besides, I know where we’re going. You want to get lost and waste minutes you might not have, or you want to let me help?”

Help. Yes, that was exactly what he and AJ had done all night. Held at gunpoint and forced into unreasonable, insane situations. That was the kind of helpful guys they were. Never mind. He wouldn’t call every single thing that had gone down tonight bygones, but he had to prioritize. The only thing that mattered was getting to Mom’s. Finding Mom, and those two little boys who had thrown him for a complete loop before he knew poltergeists were real and that not all things were as they first seemed, that was the important thing. For the first time, he _wanted_ to lend a hand.

He watched as John opened the door, slid behind the wheel and kept sliding until he was in the passenger seat. Rick was in no way surprised when the gun was still at the ready when he reached the car himself. The guy wasn’t going to shoot him mid-trip, so he did his best to ignore the threat. The horrible, sick feeling roiling through his belly when he thought about what might have happened to Mom was bad enough to keep him tight like a drum. He wondered, briefly, if this feeling was even a fraction of what John felt every day. 

It wasn’t a happy thought.

The buildings and street signs seemed to blur. Rick drove by memory, on automatic pilot because his mind was only on speed. He wanted to get to Mom’s in record time. Rush hour morning traffic was easily avoided by taking back routes and side streets, so he was making good time. Beside him, John remained a silent, ominous passenger. Rick was glad he didn’t know the specifics of John’s world, the things he might be imagining with unerring clarity and experience had happened to his boys. 

All Rick’s mind could conjure in regards to the supernatural were images of Boris Karloff and Linda Blair’s head spinning around, and those things were too manufactured to be believable. The only experience he had was the maybe-ghost from a few years back at the Hotel de Coronado, which he was more inclined to believe in all of a sudden, and the poltergeist tonight. Both capable of causing physical harm, but not likely to make people disappear. Still, he didn’t much like the thought of his mom being terrorized by some invisible monster any more than he wanted to think werewolves might be real. 

It couldn’t have been more than a fifteen minute drive, but to Rick it seemed like he’d driven cross country when he finally screeched the vintage Impala to a halt behind his truck. He was about a foot from the curb and crooked as all hell, but he didn’t care as he jumped from the vehicle and ran up the sidewalk. John was hot on his heels. Rick didn’t knock on the door, opting instead to barge in.

“AJ?” he called.

“We’re in here,” AJ said. 

From a distance, his brother still managed to sound embarrassed. Rick wondered what that was about, but more to the point he latched onto the word _we_. Rick took a step toward the kitchen, where his brother’s voice had come from. AJ had said we. He heard another soft voice. Before he took another step, he grabbed John’s arm in the first offensive maneuver he’d managed throughout their entire acquaintance and it was, more accurately, defensive.

“He said we.” Rick gestured to the gun in John’s hand, aimed at the floor instead of him. “What do you say you put that thing away? We don’t need any accidents.”

John looked as though he’d just as soon clock Rick one, but he did jam the gun into the back of his waistband. Then he tromped forward, taking the point position. 

Fair enough. John had two people he was worried about, and Rick could already hear his mother’s quiet, almost chiding voice more clearly. He needed a moment to make his legs start working again; relief had the strange effect of turning his muscles to Jell-o. No monster had dragged his mother off, or done something worse he didn’t even want to give a name to. He didn’t allow more than a few seconds to pull himself together. With several long strides, he was shoulder to shoulder with John again. They entered the kitchen simultaneously.

“Mom, you’re okay,” he said, sounding surprised though he’d already figured out she was. 

His greeting was mostly drowned out by John’s booming mantra of, “Where are my boys?”

For a moment, Cecilia and AJ both stared open-mouthed at them. Not surprised, more like they were trying to process and sort what he and John had said. And, Rick noticed, his family was the only one in the kitchen. He was glad to see Mom, but confused as all hell, and worried about Dean and Sammy and, more immediately, John.

“Of course I’m okay,” she said, like Rick had said the dumbest thing in the world. Then she blushed and looked at John. “You must be Dean and Sammy’s father.”

Rick snagged John’s arm again, held fast to it. He could feel the guy shaking, every muscle tense with the worry and frustration pent up for hours. The last person he wanted John to unleash on was his mother. John’s attention, he noted, was actually on the plates of waffle remnants set on the kitchen table. Something in John’s face made Rick’s heart ache, and he couldn’t say exactly why. Funny, he’d had that feeling more in the last nine or so hours than he had for years. 

“Wait a minute, John,” Rick said. “I know there’s bound to be a story here. Mom? AJ?”

“I’ll make this short, because - and I’m sorry –, ” Cecilia said as she looked again at John. “Your boys aren’t here. I don’t know where they are.”

“Dean locked her upstairs in your old room,” AJ said, his expression one Rick would normally have found funny. “She didn’t hear when I called for her, and I, uh, didn’t think to look upstairs. My mind was on … other possibilities.”

“We’ll talk about that later, AJ,” Rick said, darting a look at his mother. 

AJ had not had a great night. Once John had him that first time, Rick suspected his kid brother hadn’t fully caught up. It was hard to be at the level Rick knew AJ was normally, when dazed and confused. 

“When I couldn’t get out, I lay down for a moment and fell right asleep. That’s not your fault, AJ.” Cecilia patted AJ’s arm. “I’m not used to staying up all night.” 

John shifted between his feet, clearly getting angrier rather than calmer. Rick kept his hold on him firm, thought about disarming the guy. He shot AJ a warning glance. 

“The best we can figure, Dean took the little one and ran,” AJ said. “I tried calling the office to let you know, but you’d already left.”

“Your Dean is …” Cecilia paused, eyebrows furrowed as she sought the right word. “…resourceful. He tried to escape earlier by jumping out the ground floor bathroom window and almost succeeded. I didn’t expect him to try again after I showed I was on to him. I sure didn’t expect him to know how to jam a lock from the outside.”

“They ran away?” Rick asked. He was a little dumbfounded. He’d expected blood and gore and monsters, and what he got instead was something very ordinary. “Just … ran away.”

“There’s nothing _just_ about either of those boys,” Cecilia said wryly. “You’ve forgotten about your split lip and warnings you gave me earlier. You were convinced Dean was the second coming, if I recall. And I see you’ve got more injuries. I think there’s something you and AJ need to tell me later.”

Rick noticed John had stopped shaking. He stood stock still, utter concentration hardening his features. Or maybe that was anger. It was tough to tell with a guy like John. Either way, the look wasn’t directed at Cecilia Simon, but at the wall just behind her. 

“It was the strangest thing, though.” Cecilia chewed on her lip for a moment, brushed a stray hair from her eyes. “I was telling AJ the boys seemed fine. Dean was scared, of course, but he was behaving, and Sammy’s just a darling. They were okay until I got a visit from an Avon lady. She wasn’t my usual gal, and it was odd that she called on the house so early in the morning. After I assured her I didn’t need anything and she left, Dean got real skittish. That’s when he made up some story to get me upstairs – he said he wanted a toy for his brother.”

Now that was the Dean that Rick had already come to expect. He almost laughed, except John lurched from his grasp and reached for Cecilia. His movement wasn’t violent, just sudden. He watched as AJ blocked his advance bodily.

“Whoa,” AJ said, and raised his good arm. “You don’t touch my mother.”

Déjà vu, sort of.

“Lady? What did she look like? Did she exhibit any strange behavior?” John rattled off the list of questions with barely a breath. He made no more moves toward Cecilia, though AJ didn’t seem to be his deterrent. “Did your lights flicker on and off? Anything unusual?” 

“Unusual? No…uh, actually now that you mention it, she kept looking over my shoulder and inhaling deeply. Like she smelled something. I don’t think it was the waffles.”

“Sammy,” John whispered. “I knew it.”

“Oh,” Cecilia said. “There’s one other thing. When Dean locked me in Rick’s room, he said he was sorry but he had to steal money from my purse. That he had to get Sammy somewhere safe. Maybe that means more to you…?”

“I know where Dean would try to go,” John said, ignoring Cecilia’s hint for a name.

John spun on his heels and took off for the front door at a dead run. 

The three Simons stared at each other for a blink, then Rick and AJ started moving. Cecilia looked bewildered as she trailed after them.

“John,” Rick shouted at the fleeing man, who was already at the Impala. “Where?”

He didn’t expect an answer. He didn’t get one from John. What response there was came from the car, as its engine roared to life. John peeled away from the curb, not giving them so much as a sidelong glance. 

“I’m following him. Keys, AJ,” Rick barked. He was too far in this to let it go now. His instinct told him that they’d never see their three mysterious visitors again, and he had to know the boys were all right. 

“You? We,” AJ said. “Keys are in the ignition.” 

Their mother was already sitting in the truck, slid to the middle of the bench seat. Rick wanted to order her out, but the stubborn set to her jaw and a need to catch John before he got too far away prevented him from it. 

“Hold on, Mom,” he said instead, and rocketed the Power Wagon in pursuit. 

It wasn’t hard to keep John in sight. The guy didn’t know San Diego and, despite driving like a bat out of hell, the car was a standout. To keep up, he drove a tad more recklessly than he would have normally. Several times, he saw out of the corner of his eye that AJ had to wrap his injured arm around to Mom to keep her from flying about. Both of them would probably delight in lecturing him later. He did slow down when he noticed a slight grimace of pain, not annoyance, on AJ’s pale face. Next on the list of things to do: get AJ to the emergency room without upsetting Mom.

Rick didn’t know when he started to figure out where they were going, or if it was even a conscious thought. Suddenly, landmarks and buildings looked familiar. 

“Rick, is this…?” AJ said.

“Yeah, we’re going back to the beginning,” Rick muttered. 

Sure enough, John had led them straight to the Dolphin Motel and Rick wished he had insisted Mom get out of the truck back at her house. It wasn’t like she’d be unprotected, but the thought of his mother in such a seedy place was nearly as bad as finding two little boys there. By the time he, AJ and their mother had their feet on the ground, John was at a door just off the manager’s office

“Dean,” John said. He didn’t kick the door in. He didn’t pound on it. He just pressed his forehead against it. “Son, it’s me. Open the door for me.”

Rick found himself leaning forward, but reluctant to actually encroach on John’s space. This was where Dean must have been trying to get when he and AJ found him and Sammy in the room. Poor kid, he’d gone the wrong way. Rick turned slightly to view the ice bin, across the courtyard. A small, gruff voice pulled his attention back.

“Dad?” Dean asked. 

“It’s okay now, Dean.” John crouched. “Open on up.”

A click and a scrape, and a freckled face poked out of the door. Sheer relief filled Dean’s expression and he threw himself in his father’s arms.

“Daddeeeee,” Sammy said as he toddled from the confines of the housekeeping closet. “We hide. We win?”

John choked out a laugh, uncurling an arm from around Dean to scoop Sammy close. 

“You sure did, Sammy,” John said. “You won.”

“Yay!” Sammy’s voice was muffled, his face pressed into John’s shoulder.

Rick was pretty sure his mom was going to melt in a puddle right there on the sidewalk. Okay, so he wasn’t exactly unaffected by the emotional family reunion himself, and AJ had that kind of constipated expression he got when he was uncomfortable with what he was feeling. Which was quite a bit different than the other constipated expressions he pulled. It was a real sunshine and roses moment, until Dean noticed them.

“Dad, I’m sorry,” the boy said, words hurried. “I didn’t want to go with them. I tried to … and then this morning, there was something _bad_ at the door, I know she was a bad thing, Sammy didn’t like her at all and I knew I had to keep Sammy safe like you said.”

John stood, Sammy in one arm and with his other hand on Dean’s shoulder. He glanced at the Simons, then back to his son.

“We’ll talk about it later, Dean,” John said. 

A warning bell rang in Rick’s head. The guy couldn’t possibly blame a six-year-old for what had gone down, but the way he sounded…. Rick didn’t want to believe it, but he felt uneasy around John again. He hadn’t realized he’d _stopped_ being uneasy. Or maybe his unease was because Dean, tough, spunky, all-attitude Dean, had started sounding like a little boy just now, not six-going-on-twenty, and more scared than he’d ever sounded in front of him or AJ.

“Hey, little man. You did just fine.” He crouched again, tilted Dean’s chin up. “Now take your brother to the car.” John set Sammy down, and the toddler grabbed his brother’s hand instantly. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Dean caught Rick looking at him, and in a snap had his game face back on. He calmly switched hands and shifted so Sammy was on the far side from the Simons. He frowned, but underneath the mask of irritation there was a still a scared boy.

“Nice … hat,” Dean said to Rick in a way that indicated he did not think the hat was nice. Then he transferred his attention to Cecilia, and pulled something from a pocket with his free hand. He shoved a fistful of cash at her. “I’m not sorry I tricked you, because I hadta. I only needed twenty bucks for a taxi.”

“It’s okay,” Mom said, confused but somehow knowing what to say, “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

Dean gave her a lopsided smile.

“And I want you to know you make really great waffles.”

“Waffles yum,” Sam said in total agreement. He had syrup in his hair. 

“Dean,” John said. “You and your brother get goin’ now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Shit. Rick didn’t know if they were doing the right thing, letting John ride off with these boys. He’d probably always wonder. He thought back to the Sanchezes, what might have happened to them without John’s intervention. He thought of the fierceness of John’s dedication to his sons and their safety, often manifested in unfortunate ways but there nonetheless. Those things had to count for something.

“What now?” AJ said. 

His brother sounded every bit like his thoughts matched Rick’s. They probably did. For all their differences, he and AJ weren’t that far apart when it came to it. Even if AJ was from another planet on every day that ended with Y.

“Well, Country Club, now we leave and you go on with your lives,” John said. “Just, be safe.”

That was as much of a _thank you_ as they were going to get. The hard edges that made up John were still there, Rick noted, unyielding as ever. But John was different at the same time. His eyes were softer, especially in his frequent glances toward his boys. Somewhere deep down, John was a good man. Rick had to believe that. He held out a hand, his way of wishing the guy well.

John took it, his grip firm, the handshake fast. Then John pulled a duffel bag out of the salt-lined, glyph-tagged closet and walked to the car. Once again, he didn’t look back.

As the car pulled away, Rick swore he saw Dean flipping him the bird from the backseat while his baby brother pressed his forehead against the glass and gave them a dimpled grin and a clumsy wave. He hoped the little rugrats had true happiness someday, a real roof over their heads and no more monsters after them. 

“I don’t understand what just happened,” Mom said after a moment. She lifted her hand and stared at the crumpled bills. 

“You know that adage about not judging a book by its cover, Mom?” AJ said. “Turns out there was a monster in the story we were reading, but it wasn’t the one we thought. At least I hope not.”

“That tells me nothing and you know it, Andrew Jackson Simon.”

Mom had a very good point.


End file.
